ii  t"\  -r    -5-  f~s    t      **  I    •»         T    1   X~\  T        I   " -'  /•"*"* 

THREE  HOLES 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


;  1 


[Extract  from  Newton  Journal.] 

This  is  not  a  book  founded  on  facts  only,  but  a 
book  of  facts.  The  happy  way  the  writer  has  of 
delineating  character — of  bringing  the  reader  face 
to  face  with  the  subject  brought  forward  —  scenes 
and  persons  ever  opening  forth,  interests  like  a  drama, 
yet  with  an  undercurrent  of  truthfulness  which  cannot 
be  mistaken.  The  physical  endurance  of  the  child- 
ren ;  the  mental  agony ;  the  sufferings  of  the  boy 
George;  extremes  of  cruelty;  acts  of  kindness  by 
characters  here  given  ;  the  stings  of  conscience  in 
view  of  dissolution  ;  the  peaceful  departure  of  the 
blessed,  all  tend  to  make  this  work  exceedingly  in- 
teresting and  profitable  to  the  young,  the  old  and 
middle-aged.  The  chaste  language  and  high  Chris- 
tain  tone  will  commend  it  to  all  as  a  temperance, 
household  book. 


Copyright  1886, 

By   B.   A.    WHITE. 

AH  rights  reserved. 


1886. 
PRESS  OF  RICE  &  DRAKE, 

WALTHAM,   MASS. 


THE  (TREAT  CHIMXEV 


MISS    MATTIE   ITOSMKK'S   STUDIO   IX   WATEK- 

TO\VX.  MASS.,  IX   1854. 

[See ••  pnr/e  3.5.] 


T  ti  R  K  E 


OR, 


A    SCATTERED    FAMILY. 


BY      D  I  D  A  M  A. 


B .     A .     WHITE, 

N  EWTON, 
1886. 


r 


PREFACE. 

To  the  readers  of  these  pages  I  desire  to  say  that 
I  have  endeavored  to  set  forth  facts, —  things  as  they 
actually  occurred, —  prayerfully  and  carefully,  merely 

giving  a  brief  outline  of  Ann  and  George   May's 

» 
suffering  childhood.     Many  things  omitted  too  cruel 

to  be  written,  and  on  the  other  hand,  kind  acts  shown 
which  may  not  be  fully  known.  If,  by  reading  this 
story,  which  is  true,  one  father  may  be  led  to  see  the 
evils  of  intemperance,  or  one  man  who  has  a  loving 
wife  to  plead  with  him  in  behalf  of  himself,  wife  and 
children  which  God  has  given  him  as  a  sacred  charge, 
I  shall  feel  well  repaid. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


DEDICATION. 

I  desire  especially  to  dedicate  this  book  to  the 
Women's  Christian  Temperance  Union  of  our  land; 
also,  to  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to 
Children.  I  believe  these  organizations  should  go 
hand  in  hand.  Neglect  not  the  unfortunate  man, 
the  wife,  the  children,  the  widow,  or  the  orphan  !  I 
pray  you  ! 

THE  AUTHOR. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

The  Garden  City  of  New  England.  Robert  and  Annie  Clarke. 
Aunt  Mary's  Story.  The  Nancy  Weatherhead  Cottage  in 
Cumberland,  R.I.  Benjamin  May's  Family.  Baby  Ann. 
The  Intemperate  Father.  Nannie  Lare.  The  Maiden 
Aunts.  Pettee's,  Newton  Upper  Falls.  The  Four  Little 
Boys.  Their  Aunt  from  Newport.  Mrs.  May's  Father 
Moves  to  Newport.  His  Death  in  Erie,  N.Y.  The  May's 
Moved  to  Albion.  The  Little  Fellows  in  the  Mill  Four- 
teen Hours  a  Day.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homer  of  Boston.  The 
Sleigh  Ride.  Gate's  Double  Sleigh,  West  Newton.  Pul- 
sifer's  Estate.  Depot  at  Auburnclale.  Lasell  Seminary. 
Dr.  Latimer's  Home.  E.  B.  Haskell's  Estate.  Mr. 
Winslow's  Forte,  The  Pine  Farm  School.  Woodland 
Park  Hotel.  Echo  Bridge.  Chestnut-Hill  Reservoir. 
The  Arsenal,  Watertown,  Mass.  Gov.  Gore  Place,  Wal- 
tham..  The  Nonantum  House.  John  Eliot,  1640.  Tea- 
cher French,  Waltham.  The  Massasoit  House.  Old 
Churches.  Adams'  Store.  His  Clerk.  T.  D.  Stratton's 
Store.  Gen.  Banks.  Allen's  School.  Seth  Davis.  Davis 
School.  The  Circuit  Road.  At  Home  again.  Mrs. 
Clarke's  Early  Days.  Old  Dr.  Morse's  Homestead. 
Young  Alfred  on  the  Express.  Dr.  Hosmer.  His  Neph- 
ew's Mustard  Draft.  Shingle  Street,  Watertovvn,  Mass. 


x  CONTENTS. 

Miss  Dana's  School.  Miss  Hattie  Hosmer.  Her  Museum 
and  Studio.  The  Goddess  of  Sleep.  Only  a  Knack  of 
the  Trade,  that  is  all.  In  Rome.  Old  Dr.  Hunnewell. 
Wm.  White.  His  Death.  Little  Jonathan.  The  Scar- 
let Fever.  The  Baby  has  a  fearful  Scar  on  Her  left  Arm. 
The  Baby  Sister.  Mrs.  May  takes  Cold.  Dr.  Lamb  is 
sent  for.  Mrs.  May's  Death.  Six  Motherless  Children.. 
Mrs.  Southwick  goes  Home.  Mr.  Ramsclell.  The  Ex- 
press Train. 

CHAPTER  II. 

Albion.  Deborah  Gill.  Tom  Mann.  Friend's  School.  De- 
borah ducks  the  Scholars.  Paid  in  her  own  Way.  The.- 
Blacksmith's  Family.  Deborah  takes  the  Children  Home.. 
The  Funeral  of  sweet  Sally  May.  At  rest.  The  Grave  of 
Emily  May.  The  Weeping  Willow.  George  and  Ann  go- 
to Deborah  Gill's.  Ann  holds  out  her  little  hands  and; 
cries  "  Papa,  papa."  Ann  cries  for  her  Mamma  in  Hea- 
ven. The  Old  Muzzy  House.  Deborah  Moves.  The 
Three  Holes  in  the  Chimney.  The  Well  Rope.  The  Sur- 
roundings of  Deborah's  Home.  She  tries  to  Work  Out 
her  Road  Tax.  She  builds  Stone  Wall.  Her  Tamarack 
Tree. 

'CHAPTER  in. 

Reading  the  Bible.  She  whips  George  with  the  Raw-hide  in 
the  Shop'  Cellar.  George  May  freezes  his  Feet.  Their 
little  Sister  in  Cumberland.  Deborah  knits  all  Night  by 
Moonlight.  Ann  knits  herself  a  pair  of  Stockings  while; 
in  her  Fifth  Year.  The  old  Lapham  House.  The  Man- 
nings. The  Willards.  G.  L.  Barnes.  Isis  Steer  of  Woon- 
socket.  Aunt  Olive.  Deborah  strikes  Ann  against  the: 


CONTENTS. 


Table.    No.  7  calf-skin  Slipper.    Olive  Gill  writes  Deborah 
a  Letter. 

s 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Ann's  Aunts  from  Newport  visit  her.  Cayenne  Pepper  given 
Ann  for  spilling  Milk.  The  keen  Eyes  of  Deborah.  How 
Sally  May  would  sing  to  her  little  Ones.  Ann  reads  and 
knits.  'Lizzie  Spooner's  Dolls.  Deborah's  brown  Silk. 
Friend's  School.  Honey  in  the  Comb.  Grated  Cheese 
and  Apple  Dumplings.  George  May.  Deborah  will  go 
to  Newport.  Ann's  Aunts  leave  for  Home.  Ann's  Bed 
of  Rags  on  the  Hearth.  Old  Friends  Meeting-house  near 
Lonsdale.  Whipped  with  the  Sticks  till  the  Blood  runs. 
Ann  is  made  to  eat  out  of  the  Swill  Pail.  James  and 
Willie  near  their  mother's  Grave.  They  weep  together. 
Mrs.  Sawyer  weeps  over  the  Fate  of  her  sister's  Family. 
Deborah  prepares  for  yearly  Meeting.  Lydia  Haynes. 
Elizabeth  Ruthburn.  Barton  Ballon.  They  go  to  New- 
port. Lizzie  Spooner.  Ann  breaks  the  String  of  Lizzie's 
Beads.  A  Tumbler  of  Milk.  Ann  sleeps  on  the  Hearth 
at  Home.  She  did  not  spell  Methuselah  right  Ann  shows 
the  fearful  Marks  made  by  birch  Sticks  and  her  scarred 
Arm.  Ann  sees  Deborah  hide  her  Work  bag  under  the 
Oven.  She  ducks  Ann  in  a  Tub  of  Water.  Ruth  Man- 
ning. Deborah  puts  Ann  down  Cellar  under  a  Wash  tub. 
Ann  proposes  to  Run  Away.  Aunt  Deborah  haint  got  no 
dogs.  Pension  Money.  The  war  of  1812.  The  Ships 
Lawrence  and  Niagara.  Tecumseh,  the  Indian  Chief. 
Tecumseh,  the  Horse.  Ovation  in  Pawtucket,  R.I.  Pitts 
and  Joseph  Southwick.  William  Turner.  Friend  Perry. 
Ann  visits  her  Grandmother  on  her  Death  Bed.  Yearly 
Meeting  closes.  John  Steuben  of  New  Orleans.  Stage- 
driver  Tourtellotte  of  Woonsocket.  Horatio  grinds  the 


CONTENTS. 

turkey's  Toe-nails  off.  One  of  the  Peacocks  lame.  He 
tries  to  pick  live  Geese-feathers.  The  Gander  pitches  into 
him  head  first.  He  throws  a  Stone  at  a  Bee-hive.  Neigh- 
bor Clarke.  Deborah  Ballon  and  Florintina.  Anne  Jen- 
kins. Anne  Dcnnison.  Post  Office  at  Lime  Rock.  Out 
of  Tea.  Captain  John.  Scott's  Pond.  The  family  of 
Russell  Jenks.  The  Ride  of  Death.  Moshasuck.  House 
with  stone  End.  House  of  Joseph  Smith.  Home  of  the 
Smith  Family.  Butterfly  Factor}'.  Breakneck  Hill.  Hogs- 
head bust  and  spilled  all  the  'Lasses.  Nat  Morey's  Tav- 
ern. Lime  Kilns.  Captain  John  wants  to  buy  a  Cow. 
A  new  Road  contemplated.  Lime  Rock  Meeting-house. 
John  Carter  Brown's  Estate.  Hedge  just  set  out  on  the 
Bank  Wall.  Albion.  Blackstonc  Valley.  The  Canal. 
Horses  and  Oxen.  At  Home. 


CHAPTER   V. 


Lydia  May.  Jonathan  C.  Robert  Galan  Lare  of  Baltimore. 
Uncle  Ben  and  his  Favorite.  Little  Sarah  afraid  of  her 
Father.  Phoebe  Jenks.  Jane  Dudley's  Boy.  Jonathan 
makes  Horses  and  Spiders  on  his  Slate.  Cayenne  Pepper. 
Olive  Gill's  Letter  to  Lydia  May.  Willie  and  James  at 
Centerdale.  Sally's  dying  broke  me  all  up.  First  Glass 
at  Cumberland  Hill. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

John's  Room.  Lydia  speaks  her  Mind.  Aunt  Anne  and 
Aunt  Barbara.  Sam  Mann.  Meeting-house  on  Cumber- 
land Hill.  Ann  forgets  to  empty  her  Bran.  She  must 
prepare.  She  is  shut  up  in  the  great  Chimney.  Crust  ol 
Brown-bread  and  Tin  of  Water.  Ann  not  yet  Six  Years 


CONTENTS.  xiii 

Old.  Horatio  wants  to  grind  off  the  chicken's  Toe  Nails. 
Little  Ann  May  within  the  great  Chimney,  Oh  dear !  oh 
dear !  She  rubbed  her  little  Feet  to  keep  them  warm.  Old 
Black  Henry,  Ann  is  let  out  of  the  Chimney.  Elizabeth 
Rathburn.  Ann's  Bed  of  Rags.  Bowl  of  Thoroughwort. 
Ann  feels  Sick.  Lydia  May's  Letter, 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Canadians,  Deborah  feeds  ten  of  them,  Ann  is  hungry,. 
William  Lloyd  Garrison  takes  Dinner.  Abby  Kelly.  White 
Slaves  at  Home.  Paving  Stones  for  Deborah's  Cellar. 
Ann  spills  Milk  and  is  ducked.  Horatio's  Family.  Elea- 
nor and  her  little  Girl.  She  goes  to  Manville.  Eunice 
Farnham.  John  Steubin's  Death.  Elizabeth  visits  her 
Sister  Waity.  Friend  Morey,  the  Minister.  Spencer 
Whitman. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

Ann's  three  Brothers,  The  Itttle  Box.  Friends  School  and 
the  brown  Silk.  The  Boys  sign  Deborah's  Petition.  Ann 
reads  to  the  Boys.  James  leaves  Money  with  Deborah. 
George  learns  Ann  how  to  Milk.  Her  Stent  not  done  and 
no  Supper.  Joseph  Batty.  Elizabeth  will  teach  School 
in  the  Shop.  Deborah  and  the  Children  make  Loom  Har- 
nesses. Hiram  Gill's  Family.  Phebe  Barker.  Ring  of 
the  Wash  Basin.  Ann  and  the  Beggar.  Her  Stent  not 
done.  Beggar  in  the  Tool  House.  Charles  Barker. 
Pound  Calico.  Waste  Thread,  Silk  from  her  Nephew. 
Hepsabah  Harris.  Ann  is  ducked  and  has  no  Supper. 
George  is  whipped  in  the  Cellar  for  talking  with  the  Clarke 
Boy.  Thee  loves  me,  Ann  ?  They  visit  Cumberland. 
Ann's  lovely  little  Sister.  Dost  thou  take  the  Liberator  ? 


CONTENTS. 

Don't  kill  them,  Aunty.  A  Nigger  Driver.  Elizabeth 
Meader.  Stafford  Manning.  Reuben  Morey  and  Spencer 
Whitman.  Beds  dressed  in  white  Dimity.  Viola  Lapham. 
Their  Teacher  is  sick  Spencer  Whitman  takes  her  Place. 
George  is  whipped  with  Viola's  Rule.  The  resolute  Girl. 
George  is  beaten  with  a  Rawhide.  The  School  is  broken 
Up.  Ann  is  thrust  in  the  great  Chimney  by  Whitman. 
She  falls  down  Stairs.  Deborah  whips  her  terribly.  She 
is  kept  on  Bread  and  Water.  Ann's  Mamma  in  Heaven. 
The  gauze  Handkerchief.  Deborah's  Friends  leave.  Cap- 
tain John  comes  to  buy  a  Cow.  He  comes  again  to  pay 
for  her.  Deborah  gets  into  the  Window.  Captain  John 
takes  the  Maiden  out  to  ride.  The  Tin  Peddler.  Ann's 
visit.  The  News.  Too  old  to  do  much  Flirtin'.  Ann's 
Description  of  Capt.  John.  She  takes  Supper  with  the 
Willards.  Griddle  Cakes.  Master  of  his  own  Vessel, 
Aunt  Nabby  Sayles.  Anne  Gulley.  Ann's  new  Dress. 
Most  assuredly.  The  Marriage.  They  move  to  Capt. 
John's  Farm,  Lime  Rock.  His  Family.  Capt.  John 
sends  George  to  the  Poo  Hrouse.  He  ties  his  Clothes  up 
in  his  red  Handkerchief.  George  leaves  the  Poor  House. 


CHAPTER   IX. 


Dr.  Humes.  The  doctors  WTife.  Carrie  Foote.  Elizabeth 
Humes.  Grandma.  Deborah's  new  Home.  Capt.  John's 
Bath-tub.  S.  B.  Harris.  The  price  of  Eggs.  The 
Spragues  of  Cumberland.  Cake  and  Beer.  Ann's  Stent 
not  done.  A  Settlement.  The  long  Stocking.  No.  7 
Slipper.  John  Rogers.  Ann  May's  Hands  and  Feet  blis- 
tered with  Shingles.  Ann's  Screams.  Ann  has  to  stay  in 
Bed.  Deborah  throws  a  dipper  of  Water  upon  her.  Thee 
needn't  meddle. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   X. 


Mrs.  Rhodes."  Peter  Pratt.  Matanzas,  Cuba.  Leonard  and 
Anna  Pratt.  Henry  and  Sophia  Barnes.  Friend  Brown. 
Irving  of  Mannville.  Carrie  Foote.  Phebe  Jenks.  The 
Resurrection  Morn.  Her  Death.  William  Whipple. 
Squire  Whipple.  In  Providence.  Agur's  Prayer.  The 
Arcade.  Capt.  John's  Night  Caps.  Aunty  Munroe. 
Gewgaws.  Lydia's  Snuff.  Is  it  yellar  ?  Phebe  Jenk's 
Death.  The  XC  Psalm.  Aunt  Angell.  James  and 
Willie  May.  Nannie  Lare  goes  to  Baltimore.  All  move 
to  Deborah's  House.  Mary  John  goes  to  Charlestown 
to  attend  School.  Her  new  Silk  Bonnet.  Ann  tries  it  on. 
Ann  sleeps  on  a  Bed  of  Rags  on  the  garret  Floor.  George 
May  visits  Ann.  Dicky.  The  old  Tyrant.  The  Pond. 
Hon.  Peter  Pratt.  Capt.  John  goes  with  him.  Samuel 
Gill.  The  Whetmore  Family.  The  Dam  gives  way. 
Johnston,  R.I.  Ten  of  the  Family  lost.  Hushed  by  its 
mother's  Grief.  Capt.  John  in  Cuba.  Scott  John.  Wil- 
liam John.  Boxes  of  Fruit  and  Sugar  sent  Home.  Ann's 
Visit  to  the  Pratt's.  Keen  Eyes.  Anna  Pratt.  Loring's 
little  Cloey.  The  Ives'.  Ann  Wardwell.  The  Agent  of 
Hamlet  Mills,  R.I.  Mrs.  Wythe.  Peter  Pratt's  Death. 
Funeral  of  the  eminent  Lawyer.  Ann  hides  her  Bundle  in 
the  Barn.  She  runs  away.  She  is  caught.  Edward  Har- 
ris and  his  Wife  Deborah  of  Woonsocket.  Ann  is  shut 
up  in  the  Smoke-hole  in  the  great  Chimney.  Hepsabeth 
Harris'  Death.  Her  Funeral.  Ann  goes  into  the  Woods. 
She  runs  away.  Hannah  Gullys.  The  wrong  Road.  The 
Almys.  Vose's  Store.  The  Agent  Irving.  Miss  Knight. 
Mrs.  Holten.  Emily  Sevans.  The  good  Grandma.  Ann 
cries  in  the  Streets  of  Mannville.  No  One  will  take  pity 
on  the  poor  Girl.  She  goes  Home.  Sarcastic  Talk  of 
Deborah.  Ann's  Stent  —  Fifty  times  around  in  an  Hour. 


CONTENTS. 

Picnic  at  Cumberland  Hill.  They  ride  in  a  Canal  Boat. 
Miss  Gladding  and  Miss  Vinton.  Rocky  Point.  Ann 
goes  home  with  Carrie  Foote.  Leonard  Pratt  sick  with 
the  Measles.  India  Bridge.  Tockwarton  House.  Carrie's 
Father  walks  out  with  the  Children.  John  Wilbur  of 
Hopkinton,  R.I.  George  John  goes  West.  Capt.  John 
and  Wife  visit  Detroit,  Mich.  The  Delevan  House.  Ann 
goes  to  Cumberland.  The  old  Ballou  Meeting-house. 


CHAPTER   XL 

Capt.  John  drives  his  Colt  and  gets  hurt.  Dr.  Parsons.  Acsah 
Kelly.  Phebe  Barker.  George  Bean  and  Viola.  Break- 
neck Hill.  Judge  Manning.  Capt.  Clark.  Neighbor 
Willard.  Sea-faring  Yarns.  Capt.  John's  Laugh.  Poli- 
tics. Ann  leads  old  Peter  to  the  Grist-mill.  The  Dam. 
The  Canal-boat.  The  Toll.  The  Bag  falls  off.  Fenner 
Mowrey.  The  lost  Meat.  Ann's  terrible  Punishment. 
Bellingham,  Mass.  Darwin  Pickering.  The  lost  Needle. 
Ann  is  put  in  the  Barrel  head  first.  The  unconscious 
Girl.  Darwin  leaves.  Hannah  Gushing.  The  Selectmen 
of  Cumberland.  Thomas  W.  Dorr.  The  little  Aphelia. 
Dr.  Wilde's  Daughters  of  Boston.  Clerk  of  the  Superior 
Court.  Jane  Dudley.  Central  Falls,  R.I.  The  Dorr 
Rebellion.  Martial  Law  in  Pawtucket.  Mrs.  French. 
Deborah  feeds  the  Soldiers  on  their  way  to  Chepachet. 
Ann'  s  Brother  Jonathan  baptized.  Her  Father  married. 
Her  Brother  James  married.  Ann's  new  Mother.  Her 
ideal  Mother  from  her  Heavenly  Home.  The  Humes 
Boys.  Ann  is  tied  up  to  the  Rafters  by  her  Thumbs. 
Whipped  with  Candle-rods.  Capt.  John.  Ann  was  taken 
down.  Her  Nails  came  off.  Ann  visits  her  Brother.  Old 
Tige  of  Nasonville.  Ann  goes  Home  in  Tourtellotte'sStage. 
Deborah  shows  Ann  her  own  Grave  Clothes.  Capt.  John 


CONTENTS.  xvii 

John  Is  made  over.  Ann  cannot  go  to  School.  She  prays 
for  Strength.  Her  Altar.  Deborah  tries  to  throw  her 
down  Stairs.  Ann  holds  her  by  the  Arm.  Ann  will  go  to- 
her  Father.  Her  Money.  George  Gill.  Deborah's  fare- 
well. 

CHAPTER    XII. 

The  Asay  Family.  Missionary  Work.  Aunt  Emery  of  Bos- 
ton, Gov.  Hancock.  Sir  Isaac  Coffin.  Sylvia  Aldrich. 
Mrs.  James  Conliff.  Railroad  talked  of  between  Provi- 
dence and  Worcester.  Capt.  John's  death.  Davis  Kid- 
der.  Jimmy  and  Rhoda  Crocker.  Ann  goes  to  Newton. 
WTebster  St.  Bixby,  the  Station  Agent.  Her  Uncle's 
Family.  Lottie  and  her  Violin.  Neighbor  Clark's.  Job 
Manning's  Fly  Traps,  Ann  speaks  her  Mind  to  Deborah. 
Maryland  and  Virginia  Lare.  Jonathan  cast  away  at  Sea. 
Ann  marries.  An  Invalid.  Olive  Manning's  Visit.  De- 
borah's wish.  The  Bed.  Her  last  Hours.  Her  Death. 
Her  Will.  Little  Willie  Kiclder.  George  May  buys  the 
Asay  Estate.  His  Death.  The  Death  of  the  last  Child  of 
Ebenezer  and  Charlotte  Thayer  Coffin.  The  Scattered 
Family.  The  Grave  of  Deborah.  The  two  Olives.  The 
Holes  of  the  Chimney.  The  Successor  to  Deborah's  Pos- 


CONCLUSION. 

Mrs.  Sonthwick.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homer.  The  Clarks.  Wash- 
ington Park.  Newtonville.  The  Graduate.  The  Manu- 
script. Mrs.  Warren  in  Newton.  The  Occupant  of  the 
great  Chimney  in  Davis  Kidder's  Country  Home  in  Rhode 
Island. 


THREE  HOLES  IN  THE  CHIMNEY, 

OR, 

A  Scattered  Family. 


CHAPTER   I. 

"  AUNTIE,  don't  you  remember  you  have  told  us 
children  that  you  would  tell  us  a  long,  long  story 
about  a  friend  of  yours  who  lost  her  dear  mother 
when  she  was  a  little  bit  of  a  girl?  " 

It  was  of  that  little  girl  and  her  early  life  I  was 
thinking  about  when  you  thought  I  looked  sad  ;  and, 
now  that  you  are  old  enough  to  remember  what  you 
hear,  I  will  1ry  to  collect  my  thoughts  and  relate  to 
you,  my  dear  friends,  life  experience,  as  it  will  show 
you  that  God  never  leaves  or  forsakes  those  who  put 
their  trust  in  him,  although  he  leads  them  through 
dark  places  sometimes. 

Come  into  my  room  this  evening  and  I  will  talk 
with  you  awhile.  Now  go  and  have  a  good  time 
coasting,  and  I  will  go  and  help  your  mamma,  as  she 
expects  company  from  Boston  to-morrow  in  an  early 


2O  THREE   HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

train,  and  as  this  is  their  first  visit  at  Newton,  we 
wish  to  make  it  unusually  attractive.  "Thank  you 
auntie,"  said  happy  little  Annie  Clark,  as  she  ran 
back  to  join  her  two  brothers  and  younger  sister 
Bessie.  Happy,  happy  little  children, —  how  little 
they  know  of  the  sorrows  and  heartaches  that  many 
have  even  at  their  tender  age.  They  are  blessed 
with  a  kind  father  and  a  most  loving,  affectionate 
mother,  and  this  is  a  lovely  home,  and  well  may  this 
city  be  called  the  "Garden  City  of  New  England." 

But  this  is  not  helping  sister  Ellen,  so  Aunt 
Mary  must  stir  about  and  be  ready  to  entertain 
the  young  folks  to-night.  So  saying,  she  went  about 
some  domestic  duties,  and  all  the  time  thinking  of 
the  dear  friend  whose  history  she  knew  so  well,  and 
for  whom  she  had  shed  tears  of  sympathy  times 
without  number. 

Evening  came,  and  Annie  had  not  forgotten  her 
aunt  Mary's  promise.  Aunt  Mary  was  a  sister  of 
Annie's  father,  and  had  been  staying  with  them  some- 
six  months,  as  her  husband  had  died  suddenly  while 
on  a  journey  out  west,  thus  leaving  aunt  Mary,  as  \ve 
call  her,  alone.  She  had  only  one  child  who  was 
away  at  school. 

"  Well,  auntie,  here  we  are,  and  I  have  brought 
my  brother  Robert  in  with  me,  for  you  know  he  is 
fond  of  stories ;  he  is  twelve  and  I  am  ten,  you 
know,  and  would  remember  and  enjoy  what  you  have 
to  tell  us. 

"I   am  glad  you  did,"  said   aunt  Mary.     "The 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  21 

more  the  merrier;  be  seated,  and  here  are  apples 
.and  pop-corn  and  enjoy  yourselves,  my  dears.'' 

Let  us  describe  these  persons  a  little,  just  to  get 
better  acquainted  with  them.  Aunt  Mary  was  a  tall, 
genteel  and  nicely  formed  lady,  with  hair  black  as 
midnight,  with  very  pleasant  black  eyes,  and  with 
just  crows-foot  marks  enough  to  look  pleasant.  She 
had  long,  narrow  teeth,  nearly  every  one  of  which 
had  been  rilled  with  gold,  and  she  had  a  happy  way 
•of  showing  nearly  every  one  of  them  when  she 
laughed.  She  dressed  in  mourning  just  now,  and 
.altogether  aunt  Mary  was  a  fine  specimen  of  a  well- 
bred  lady,  and  as  she  reclined  in  her  easy-chair  she 
looked  the  picture  of  goodness  and  Christian  trust. 
Robert  and  his  brother  were  fine  looking  boys ; 
Robert,  the  elder,  was  a  thoughtful,  kind  hearted 
boy,  not  over  fond  of  books,  but  tried  hard  to  keep 
up  with  his  classes.  He  had  brown  hair  and  eyes 
like  his  mother's,  a  broad  chin  and  a  mouth  full  of 
handsome  teeth.  Annie  looked  as  much  like  her 
brother  as  it  was  possible,  with  her  square  forehead 
.all  covered  up  with  crimps,  so  much  worn,  and  by 
many  considered  so  unbecoming. 

"Well,  auntie,  now  for  the  story,"  says  Annie. 
'"Yes,,"  says  Robert,  "now  to  business.  Have  an 
apple,  auntie,  and  some  corn !  " 

No,  thank  you  ;  if  I  have  got  to  do  the  talking 
how  can  I  eat?  You  will  have  to  do  that,  and  when 
you  are  tired  of  hearing  me -talk  just  go  to  sleep  and 
I  will  take  the  hint  and  stop. 


22  THREK    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

"  Yes,"  says  Robert,  "  let  up."  "  O,  that's  slang," 
says  Annie.  "Well,  never  mind;  it's  all  right,  now 
go  ahead." 

Suppose  you  go  with  me  in  imagination  too,  and 
enter  a  small  cottage  house  situated  about  eight  miles 
from  the  City  of  Providence,  R.I.,  on  the  road  leading 
from  Woonsocket  to  Lonsdale.  It  has  been  known 
as  the  Nancy  Weatherhead  house,  it  is  quite  a  dis"- 
tance  from  the  road.  The  snow  is  very  deep,  so 
that  no  woman  can  reach  the  house  except  on  an  ox 
sled  ;  but  as  only  our  minds  are  going,  never  mind 
the  snow. 

Here  we  find  the  father,  four  little  boys,  the 
mother,  a  pretty  dark-eyed  woman,  who  had  evi- 
dently seen  much  trouble,  and  just  now  looked  un- 
usually pale  and  sick,  as  she  holds  in  her  arms  a 
little  baby  three  weeks  old, —  a  chubby  red-cheeked 
baby.  The  boys  had  never  had  a  baby  sister  before, 
and  James,  the  eldest,  loved  to  hold  her  while  Willie 
and  George  and  little  curly-headed  Jonathan  all 
looked  on  with  loving  smiles.  This  might  have 
been  a  happy  home,  even  in  comparative  poverty,  if 
the  father  had  been  a  steady  man.  At  this  time 
Mr.  May  was  at  work  for  his  wife's  father,  boat- 
building. His  trade  was  that  of  a  blacksmith,  and 
at  times  he  would  work  at  it ;  but  he  would  get  into 
bad  company,  get  to  drinking,  and  then  abuse  his 
family.  This  was  the  reason  that  poor  Sallie  May 
looked  sad  as  she  gazed  in  pjty  on  her  four  Tittle 
boys  and  sweet  little  girl.  The  old  May  homestead 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  23 

was  only  a  few  minutes'  walk  from  their  home,  and 
there  lived  two  maiden  sisters  of  her  husband's,  — 
Lydia  and  Phebe  May, —  and  Nannie  Lare,  a  sister's 
child,  they,  in  their  kindness  of  heart,  took  from  her 
dying  mother's  arms  when  three  weeks  old,  promis- 
ing to  care  for  and  love  as  their  own.  This  they  did 
by  sewing  straw  and  living  very  prudently  ;  nor  did 
their  good  deeds  stop  here.  They  would  try  to  make 
their  brother  Benjamin's  family  more  comfortable  by 
making  nice  warm  mittens  and  knitting  stockings  for 
the  boys.  If  you  .were  to  ask  them  if  they  were 
lonely,  they  would  say,  "  O  no ;  in  this  house  our 
dear  father  sickened  and  died,  after  a  short  illness, 
leaving  our  mother  with  seven  children,  and  we  all 
took  hold  and  helped  her,  so  the  children  had  a  fair 
education.  The  boys  learned  trades, —  Benjamin, 
blacksmith  ;  Henry,  who  now  lived  in  the  next  house 
to  his  sister's,  the  wheelwright ;  Samuel,  the  machin- 
ist, and  he  lor  more  than  thirty  years  worked  for 
Pettee  at  Newton  Upper  Falls  in  this  city,  in  which 
is  your  beautiful  home." 

"  O,  auntie,  what  about  that  little  girl  who  lost  her 
mother  ?  " 

Are  you  not  tired  and  sleepy,  and  have  I  not 
talked  long  enough  for  to-night  ?  I  have  had  to  tell 
you  about  the  'ancestors  of  this  little  girl  so  that  you 
may  better  understand  why  in  after  years  she  had  to 
pass  through  so  much." 

"No,  auntie,"  says  Robert,  "I  want  to  know 
about  those  four  little  boys." 


24  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY. 

Annie  says  :  "  And  that  little  baby,  what  was  her 
name  ?  and " 

Yes,  dear,  I  know,  and  I  will  talk  with  you  until 
nine,  and  then  it  will  be  continued  to-morrow  even- 
ing, if  your  company  from  Boston  are  not  here. 
Well,  I  have  told  you  about  Mr.  May's  family,  his 
brothers  and  sisters.  One  sister,  Salinda,  married 
a  man  by  the  name  of  Angell  of  north  Providence. 
She  had  a  good  home  and  took  great  e'elight  in 
visiting  her  "old  maid  sisters,"  as  they  were  called. 
And  now  about  that  baby  and  her  name.  It  took  a 
long  time  to  find  one  pretty  enough  for  a  little  girl ; 
but  after  much  consideration  they  named  the  baby 
Elizabeth  Ann.  Mr.  May's  mother's  name  was 
Klizabeth  Wood  of  Attleboro,  and  Sallie  May's 
mother's  name  was  Susan  Ann  ;  so  it  seemed  quite 
nice  to  have  a  little  girl  to  perpetuate  the  names,  so 
the  baby  was  named  at  last. 

The  mother  had  somewhat  recovered  her  usual 
strength,  and  the  coming  spring  one  of  Mrs.  My's 
sisters  from  Newport  made  her  a  visit. 

The  boys  went  to  school ;  little  Jonathan  went 
most  of  the  time  when  it  was  pleasant  weather. 
Their  cousin,  Nannie  Lare,  was  never  happier  than 
when  her  aunties  would  let  her  go  to  her  aunt  May's 
and  see  the  children,  so  they  lived  quite  comfortably 
until  Ann  was  two  years  old.  She  was  born  Feb.  2, 
1831,  and  this  was  the  spring  of  1833. 

Mrs.  May's  father  moved  away  to  Newport  and 
died  in  Erie,  N.Y.,  soon  after,  thus  taking  away  many 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  25 

comforts  she  had  enjoyed.  It  was  finally  decided 
that  they  must  move  to  a  place  where  the  two  oldest 
boys  could  work  in  the  factory,  and  although  Sink- 
ingfund,  a  village  now  called  Ashton,  was  quite  near, 
they  concluded  to  move  to  Albion,  as  Mr.  May 
could  have  a  blacksmith  shop  there.  With  many 
tears  at  leaving  their  old  neighborhood,  they  packed 
their  goods  and  moved  to  Albion.  Here  for  the 
first  time  did  James  and  Willie  know  what  it  was  to 
work  fourteen  hours  a  day  and  to  get  scolded  and 
knocked  about  by  the  overseers,  as  well  as  by  their 
intemperate  father.  Life  seemed  almost  a  burden  to 
the  poor  mother,  to  have  her  dear  boys  in  the  mill 
week  after  week,  and  their  earnings  spent  too  often 
for  rum.  She  worked  early  and  late  to  keep  their 
clothes  comfortable  so  they  might  go  to  Sunday 
school  at  least.  The  baby  had  grown  to  be  a  little 
chatter- box,  trying  to  talk  and  cheer  up  the  poor 
mother  when  she  saw  her  crying  as  if  her  heart 
would  break. 

I  cannot  tell  you  any  more  to-night,  dear  children  , 
come  to-morrow  night  and  I  will  tell  you  more. 

"  Good  night,  auntie  ;  we  thank  you  very  much,  but 
we  shall  dream  of  those  two  little  fellows  working 
in  that  awful  mill,"  and  Robert  and  Annie  Clark 
went  to  bed  more  thankful  to  their  Maker  for  giving 
them  such  a  lovely  home,  a  kind  father  and  mother, 
and  dear  good  auntie  that  had  taken  so  much  pains 
to  entertain  them,  and  it  was  a  true  story  too. 

The  next  day  proved  to  be  a  delightful  winter's 


26  THREE   HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

day.  The  expected  company  came,  and  plans  were 
made  for  a  sleigh  ride  the  next  day,  so  auntie  did 
not  proceed  with  her  story  the  next  night,  but  her 
promise  was  not  forgotten. 

The  next  day  \vas  Saturday  and  the  last  day  of 
vacation  week,  and  nothing  was  talked  of  but  the 
anticipated  sleigh  ride. 

"Now  for  a  general  count  of  noses.— Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Homer  (their  company),  father  and  mother, 
Mrs.  Southwick  (their  auntie),  there  is  little  Bessie, 
Annie  and  brother  Charlie,  and  myself,  of  course, ?> 
thus  mused  Robert,  as  he  was  trying  to  plan  the 
matter  with  his  father.  "  Can  we  all  go  in  a  big 
double  sleigh  ?  "  This  was  the  question  :  "  Let  us 
get  Cate's  three-seated  sleigh  and  a  pair  of  his  best 
horses,  and  I  tell  you  what,  father,  we  will  show  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Homer  and  aunt  Mary  some  of  the  pleas- 
ant drives  in  Newton.  Although  they  have  lived  in 
Philadelphia  I  think  they  will  appreciate  our  city  " 

"  Well,  we  will  start  at  two,  sharp,"  says  Mr.  Clark. 

At  two  all  were  ready  and  soon  were  packed 
comfortably  in  the  sleigh,  Mr.  Clark  driving,  and 
Robert  and  Charlie  telling  all  they  could  think  of 
to  amuse  and  entertain  their  guests. 

''We  must  certainly  take  in  Pulsifers  estate  down 
by  the  river,"  says  Annie.  "  Well,  suppose  we  go 
there  first ;  in  order  to  view  the  house  and  grounds, 
one  is  obliged  to  drive  through  the  entrance  and 
around  the  house,  and,  as  I  have  a  message  for  one 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  2 7 

of  his  sons,  we  can  drive  around  under  the  arch  and 
leave  it  without  intrusion,"  says  Charlie. 

"  This  was  only  a  swamp  ten  years  ago,"  said  Mr. 
Clark.  "  These  houses  were  built  and  this  street  cut 
through  under  the  direction  of  one  Mr.  Winslow, 
whose  forte  seemed  to  be  in  making  lovely  resi- 
dences for  other  people  to  enjoy." 

As  they  sped  along  by  the  elegant  stone  depot  at 
Auburndale,  then  up  the  hill  by  the  Lasell  Semi- 
nary, then  around  by  some  houses  of  interest,  here 
they  find  another  residence,  built  by  the  same  Wins- 
low,  now  owned  by  E.  B.  Haskill,  not  far  distant  the 
home  of  Dr.  Latimer,  one  of  the  greatest  scholars 
in  all  Methodism,  then  by  Woodland  Park  Hotel, 
kept  by  Lee,  from  there  by  the  Pine  Farm  School 
for  boys,  then  to  Newton  Upper  Falls  to  view  the 
Echo  Bridge,  then  to  Newton  Centre  ;  here  they 
could  see  the  colleges,  or  what  is  called  Newton 
Theological  Institute,  where  they  "  Coin  Baptist  min- 
isters," it  is  said. 

"  It  is  quite  a  little  drive  down  to  the  reservoir 
Chestnut  Hill,  yet  I  think  we  will  have  time,"  said 
Mr.  Clark.  "  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Homer?" 

"  Yes,  go  if  you  please  ;  it  is  near  there  that  your 
friend,  Col.  Kingsbury,  lives,  I  think  you  told  me, 
who  was  on  the  Governor's  staff  so  long,  and  is  now 
city  clerk  of  Newton,"  says  Robert. 

"  Ah  !  is  that  so  ?  "  says  Mr.  Homer 

"This  was  the  residence  of  Horace  Mann  of  edu- 
cational fame." 


28  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

They  all  looked  with  interest  at  the  large,  quaint 
looking  house  situated  at  the  corner  of  the  street  and 
the  stone  barn  in  the  rear.  By  some  turning  and 
planning  they  found  themselves  on  the  way  to  the 
Reservoir.  Many  nice  old  mansions  were  passed  — • 
the  old  Kingsbury  estate  where  they  now  live  enjoy- 
ing frequent  visits  from  their  sons  and  daughters  and 
numerous  grand  children. 

"  This  is  the  home  of  my  friend,"  says  Mr.  Clark, 
pointing  to  a  lovely  house  not  far  from  the  old  home- 
stead on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  "  A  little 
farther  on  is  Judge  Lowell's,  down  there  in  the  hol- 
low ;  is  it  not  lovely  ?  If  you  will  look  up  on  that 
hill  at  the  right  you  will  see  the  residence  of  R.  H. 
White,  Boston's  A.  T.  Stewart.  But  here  we  are  at 
the  Reservoir;  we  will  go  in  this  side  and  out  the 
other  through  the  arched  entrance,  which  is  built  of 
Westerly  granite." 

"O,  how  lovely  this  must  be  in  the  summer,"  said 
aunt  Mary. 

"Come  and  see  us  next  summer,"  says  Annie, 
•"and  we  can  drive  here  alone." 

"  I  will  remember  it,  and  if  my  daughter  graduates, 
as  I  expect  she  will,  I  will  bring  her  with  me." 

"  Yes,  sister  Mary  ;  I  do  want  to  see  my  niece 
very  much,"  says  Mrs,  Clark,  "but  she  has  probably 
grown  all  out  of  my  remembrance." 

"  Yes,  Nellie  Southwick  is  nearly  as  tall  as  I  am, 
but  she  is  not  yet  eighteen  and  is  quite  girlish." 

"That  is  the  United  States  Arsenal, —  those  build- 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  29 

ings  you  see  at  the  extreme  right.  I  love  to  see 
those  glorious  stars  and  stripes  always  waving,"  said 
Mr.  Clark.  "We  can  drive  by  the  Gov.  Gore  estate, 
by  the  Bleachery  through  Newton ;  the  Nonantum 
House  is  still  standing,  with  its  little  belfry  or  cupola 
on  top.  Here  the  Indians  used  to  congregate,  and 
under  this  large  elm  tree  listen  to  the  preaching  of 
John  Eliot  as  long  ago  as  1640.  We  will  drive  by 
Eliot  Hall,  the  Library  building,  and  up  the  hill  by 
the  residence  of  Preston  Lare,  Jr.,  and  then  come 
back,  go  through  Watertown,  then  to  Waltham,  by 
the  Watch  Factory,  through  West  Newton,  and  then 
home." 

"That  is  just  my  mind,  father,"  says  Annie. 

So  up  the  hill  they  drove,  by  Eliot  Church  and  by 
an  elegant  house  with  arched  front  entrance. 

"Drive  slowly,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  South- 
wick.  "This  Mr.  Lare  is  a  half  brother  to  the  little 
Nannie  Lare  I  was  telling  you  about,  children." 

"  Was  he  not  from  Wrenthan  ?" 

"Yes,  he  was,"  said  Mr.  Clark.  "  He  had  a  number 
of  sisters  there  and  a  half  brother  in  Baltimore.  His 
wife  came  from  there ;  her  name  was  Lilly.  She 
was  an  only  daughter.  Her  father  gave  this  place 
to  her,  and  they  also  had  an  only  daughter  whose 
name  was  Lilly.  She  had  been  to  Baltimore  on  a 
visit,  and  soon  after  they  came  back  she  was  taken 
with  a  fever  and  died.  The  family  are  now  in  Bos- 
ton or  we  would  call,  as  he  is  a  most  valued  friend 
of  mine.'' 


30  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY. 

This  drive  carried  them  through  Watertown  and 
Waltham,  and  when  passing  through  Waltham  Mr. 
Homer  surprised  them  all  by  saying,  "  How  much 
this  town  has  changed  since  I  lived  here. 

"Did  you  ever  live  here?  "  said  Robert.  "  I  did 
not  know  you  were  ever  in  this  vicinity  before." 

"Well,  I  had  almost  forgotten  the  fact  myself; 
but  when  I  was  a  school  boy  I  lived  here  and  boarded 
with  an  uncle  and  went  to  school  to  a  lame  man. 
His  name  was  French,  I  think.  I  was  here  over  a 
year."  And  Mr.  Homer  showed  them  where  the 
hotel  called  the  Massasoit  used  to  stand.  "The 
Universalist  Church  was  over  there  very  near  Ly- 
man's  country  seat.  We  boys  used  to  go  over  there 
sometimes  for  the  walk  and  to  hear  a  Miss  Farwell 
sing.  She  wore  glasses,  I  remember  that,  and  I 
can  never  forget  her  deep  alto  voice ;  it  was  thrill- 
ing, and  at  a  funeral  it  was  a  dirge  in  itself."  Mr. 
Homer  pointed  out  the  old  Orthodox  Church  as  be- 
ing the  place  where  his  uncle's  family  worshipped. 
"And  there  was  Rumford  Hall,  and  on  that  corner 
a  Mr.  Adams  kept  store  :  a  nice  young  fellow  named 
Rice  used  to  tend  store  for  him.  We  used  to  go 
together  sometimes  to  the  Universalist  Church.  He 
said  he  preferred  the  singing  and  he  felt  better 
acquainted ;  but  I  always  had  to  walk  home  with 
some  one  else,  as  I  found  he  was  too  well  acquainted. 
But  what  have  they  done  with  the  Methodist  Church 
which  used  to  be  here  on  the  common,  and  nearly 
opposite  was  Stratton's  store?  A  clever  man  was 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  31 

this  T.  D.  Stratton.  He  kept  everything  from  a 
Jew's-harp  to  a  side  saddle  :  and  wife,"  said  Mr. 
Homer,  "you  have  seen  that  picture  of  mine  which 
was  taken  with  my  hat  on ;  well,  what  I  was  going 
to  say,  we  boys,  some  eight  or  ten  in  number,  went 
to  a  Mr.  Fogg's,  an  artist,  whose  rooms  were  in  a 
building  there  at  the  right,  and  we  thought  them 
cheap  at  one  dollar  and  a  half  each.  Old  Dr.  Hobbs 
used  to  live  in  that  house  on  the  common,  and  here  is 
a  new  bridge,  and  this  is  the  factory  where  General 
Banks  used  to  carry  bobins  of  filling  for  an  old  house- 
keeper of  ours.  I  have  heard  her  say  that  he  used 
to  comb  his  hair  when  a  boy  the  same  as  he  did  in 
after  years,  by  running  his  fingers  up  through  the 
thick,  black  locks  which  would  stick  up  straight  off 
his  forehead  ;  but  in  his  picture  his  hair  is  nicely 
parted." 

They  then  went  by  the  Watch  Factory  on  to 
Moody  street,  then  to  West  Newton  (which  used  to 
be  called  Squash  End),  by  the  City  Hall,  and  Robert, 
pointing  with  pride  at  the  school  house  where  he 
went  three  years  previous  to  his  moving  to  New- 
tonville.  This  building  at  the  right  is  the  world- 
renowned  classical  school  kept  by  the  Aliens.  Just 
then  an  old  gentleman  with  feeble  step  crossed  the 
street,  and,  raising  his  hat,  bowed  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Clark. 

"That  old  gentleman's  name  is  Seth  Davis.  He 
is  over  ninety,  and  is,  as  you  see,  quite  smart,  only  a 
little  feeble.  He  kept  school  here  over  fifty  years 


32  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY. 

ago.  That  school  house  over  there  at  the  left  is 
called  the  Davis  School.  He  gave  the  land  for  that 
purpose.  He  loves  law  and  astronomy,  and  has 
lectured  on  the  latter  subject  before  the  Newton 
Athenaeum  since  his  ninetieth  birthday.  He  lives  in 
that  brick  mansion  on  Watertown  St.,  and  as  we  drive 
down  Washington  St.  home  we  can  see  it.  There  are 
four  tracks,  you  see,  on  this  part  of  the  Boston  & 
Albany  Railroad.  There  is  to  be  a  circuit  road,  so 
that  we  can  reach  all  the  Newtons  by  rail,"  said  Mr. 
Clark. 

Here  they  are  at  home  once  more.  It  was  nearly 
dark.  Bessie  was  asleep,  and  all  thought  a  good 
supper  would  be  just  the  thing. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homer  thought  it  was  just  probable 
they  might  move  out  to  Newton  in  the  spring. 

After  they  were  all  through  talking  over  the  pleas- 
ant ride  which  they  had  enjoyed  that  afternoon, 
Annie  reminded  her  mother  of  her  promise  to  tell 
them  some  interesting  facts  about  Watertown,  where 
she  used  to  live  when  a  girl.  "  Well,  you  know  when 
we  went  back  from  Newton  I  showed  you  Morse's 
field,  as  it  is  called,  and  farther  on  the  old  Dr.  Morse 
homestead,  and  then  on  the  right  a  school-house 
which  used  to  be  the  Universalist  Church  of  Newton 
and  Watertown.  Although  quite  young  I  well  re- 
member of  going  there  with  a  friend  very  often,  and 
especially  noticed  some  lovely  families. —  Dr.  Ten- 
Ion's  family,  the  Trowbridge's,  the  Lindley's,  the 
Davis'  of  Brighton,  the  Derby's,  the  pleasant  face 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  33 

of  Captain  French,  the  sweet  voices  of  Mrs.  Hall 
and  Mrs.  Bemis ;  but  really,  I  was  not  intending  to 
dwell  upon  this  school-house  so  long,  but  I  must 
mention  the  Tainter  family,  the  members  so  active 
in  good  work,  and  I  have  many  times  thought  of  the 
little  Alfred ;  when  no  older  than  our  Charlie  he 
would  drive  all  around  the  town  on  an  express  wagon 
when  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  fall  off  the  seat,  for 
he  always  went  on  the  whew.  How  well  I  remem- 
ber Mr.  Rogers,  with  his  long  plaid  cloak ;  the  old 
Dr.  Morse,  as  he  used  to  drive  out  in  his  yellow 
painted  chaise  with  his  sister-in-law,  Miss  Catherine 
Hunt,  for  driver.  He  had  very  long  white  hair,  and 
wore  a  dressing  gown  reaching  nearly  down  to  his 
slippers.  Let  me  see, —  I  showed  you  the  house 
near  the  bridge  where  our  beloved  Washington  stop- 
ped, and  I  pointed  out  to  you  the  former  residence 
of  the  old  Dr.  Hosmer.  He  was  our  family  physi- 
cian when  we  lived  in  Watertown,  and  about  the 
time  we  moved  away  the  present  Dr.  Hosmer  had 
just  begun  his  studies  with  his  uncle ;  in  fact  I  re- 
member of  his  coming  to  attend  me  one  night :  the 
old  doctor  was  sent  for,  but,  as  he  was  absent,  the 
young  Alfred  came  in  his  stead.  At  that  time  there 
was  a  great  cholera  scare,  and  if  any  one  was  sick 
a  little,  they  thought  of  the  cholera,  sure  ;  but  at  any 
rate,  the  young  doctor  superintended  the  making  of 
a  mustard  draft  which  was  over  half  a  yard  square, 
and  we  hung  it  over  the  footboard  of  the  bedstead, 
and  laughed  at  it,  but  not  until  it  had  eased  the  pain 


34  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY. 

somewhat  and  raised  blisters  that  lasted  me  a  week, 
so  that  is  the  reason  I  call  a  mustard  draft  my  Hos- 
mer  remedy.  That  street  where  they  used  to  live 
was  called  Shingle  Street ;  the  old  residents  of  that 
street  were  the  Preist's,  the  Stickney's ;  the  Gilky's 
lived  near  there,  but  it  is  of  the  doctor's  daughter  I 
wish  to  tell  you  of  especially,  Miss  Hattie.  She 
went  to  school  with  my  older  brother,  to  a  Miss  Dana, 
when  they  were  both  children.  Her  mother  died 
when  she  was  quite  young,  and  her  father  desired 
his  Hattie  to  become  a  thoroughly  good  woman,  and 
to  be  a  comfort  to  him  in  his  declining  years.  Never 
•could  a  daughter  look  more  like  a  father,  except  in 
stature :  the  same  square  forehead,  and  the  same 
pleasant  expression  of  the  not  very- small  mouth  and 
broad  chin,  always  kind  and  affable.  You  know  I 
showed  you  a  likeness  of  Miss  Hosmer  who  is  now 
in  Rome,  and  who  represents  America  as  one  of  her 
most  noted  female  sculptors.  You  know  I  told  you 
that  the  ribbon  which  was  tied  around  her  hair  was 
quite  unlike  the  girl,  as  she  looked  upon  an  orna- 
ment as  foolish  waste.  I  will  tell  you  of  my  last  call 
on  this  wonderful  woman,  and  then  I  will  not  keep 
you  longer ;  but,  as  your  father  says,  I  get  wound  up 
.some  times,  when  I  commence  talking  about  my 
childhood  days,  and  who  does  not? 

"  Miss  Hosmer  had  determined  to  go  to  the  old 
country  and  complete  her  studies,  and  to  come  home 
occasionally,  which  she  did  as  long  as  her  father 
lived,  so  a  short  time  before  she  left  her  native  town 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  35 

she  opened  her  house  and  studio  to  the  public,  which 
was  a  very  happy  thought.  Her  father's  house  had 
a  long  hall  passing  through  the  centre  ;  on  the  left 
hand  side  was  the  doctor's  office,  then  the  staircase, 
then  a  large  room  which  she  had  fitted  up  as  a  mu- 
seum. Here  she  told  us  were  articles  which  she  had 
collected  herself,  and  pointing  to  a  nest  with  eggs  in 
it,  she  said  :  '  I  got  this  in  Concord,  Mass. ;  it  was 
on  the  highest  tree  for  miles  around  ;  this  was  at  the 
top,  and  I  got  it  at  sunrise,  too.'  She  had  ducks," 
fowls  of  every  description  in  our  climate,  insects, 
curious  twigs  and  branches,  grasses,  ferns,  in  fact 
every  thing  a  resolute  girl  of  her  peculiar  taste  and 
with  such  a  venturesome  spirit  might  collect.  It  was 
a  very  warm  day,  and  as  she  handed  us  a  big  palm- 
leaf  fan,  said  :  '  We  will  go  out  into  the  studio  and 
get  cool.'  Her  father  had  given  her  a  small,  square 
building  fixed  up  especially  for  her  use,  quite  a  little 
way  from  the  house  among  the  trees  ;  here  she  could 
use  her  great  hammer  and  tools  with  which  she 
worked  unmolested.  We  stepped  into  the  room  or 
shop,  as  it  looked  to  be,  as  on  the  bench  were  the 
large  hammers  and  different  tools.  '  And  now,  ladies,' 
she  said,  '  I  will  show  you  what  I  have  been  about  the 
last  few  months,'  and  stepping  up  to  something  which 
was  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  she  took  hold  of  a 
dark  cloth  and  lifted  it  off,  and  thus  unveiled  to  our 
astonished  gaze  one  of  the  most  beautiful  sights  I 
ever  saw,  in  marble,  certainly  the  best.  On  a  rough 
pedestal,  which  she  had  fixed  herself,  was  placed  a 


36  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY. 

beautiful  statue  which  she  had  made  out  of  a  rough 
slab  of  marble — a  life-size  bust  which  she  called 
'  The  Goddess  of  Sleep.'  Around  the  head  was  a 
wreath  of  poppies,  most  beautifully  wrought,  so  deli- 
cate one  could  see  between  each  leaf,  bud  and  stem. 
As  Miss  Hosmer  stood  with  one  hand  on  the  handle 
of  a  large  hammer  which  lay  on  the  bench,  I  ven- 
tured to  ask  her  how  she  could  possibly  use  such 
heavy  tools.  She  said :  '  Only  a  knack  of  the 
trade,'  that's  all.'  Her  working  suit  hung  up  near 
the  door,  and  pieces  of  marble  and  dust  from  her  work 
lay  around,  as  if  she  had  just  finished  working.  She 
shook  hands  with  us  all  as  we  left,  and  I  have  never 
seen  her  since.  She  walked  along  with  us  as  far  as 
the  front  entrance  to  her  father's  house,  and  invited 
us  to  come  again.  Miss  Hosmer  wore  a  small  fig- 
ured brown  and  white  lawn  dress,  made  with  yoke 
and  belt,  plain  skirt ;  she  carried  a  small  gold  watch 
and  chain,  and  now  when  you  read  about  Miss  Hos- 
mer in  Rome  you  will  feel  more  interested,"  said  Mrs. 
Clark. 

"  Although  a  motherless  girl,  she  was  not  situated 
like  the  one  I  have  been  telling  you  about,  children," 
said  aunt  Mary. 

"  Just  a  few  more  old  familiars,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke. 
"  Not  to  see  good  old  deacon  Tucker  at  church  was 
a  thing  never  heard  of,  and  every  morning  we  ex- 
pected to  see  old  Dr.  Hunnewell  :  he  was  at  that 
time  quite  old  and  infirm  ;  he  had  long,  white  hair, 
and  with  his  bright,  figured  morning  gown  and  slip- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  37 

pers  and  with  cane  in  hand  he  would  walk  to  the 
post  office  and  around  the  street  a  little,  and  then 
home,  which  was  near  the  Town  Hall,  and  now  I 
think  of  it,  the  great  temperance  lecturer  of  his  day 
was  William  A.  White.  His  wife  was  a  niece  of  Dr. 
Parkman,  of  Boston,  who  lost  his  life  at  the  hands 
of  Professor  Webster,  with  whom  he  had  had  some 
business  trouble.-  He  usually  dressed  in  very  light 
clothes,  with  his  neat  cutaway  coat,  his  nicely-fitting 
gaiters  and  other  peculiarities  in  dress.  He  had  two 
lovely  little  girls  which  were  his  constant  care,  and, 
with  their  careful  nurse,  fared  well.  But  not  many 
years  later  this  useful  man  was  out  west,  and  going 
alone  to  attend  a  convention,  was  found  dead  on  a 
lonely  road,"  said  Mrs.  Clark. 

"And    more    motherless    children,"    said    aunt 
Mary. 

The  next  day  being  the  Sabbath,  they  all  went  to 

church  and  listened  to  a  very  edifying  discourse, 

arid  altogether  they  passed  a  very  pleasant  Sabbath. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Homer  returned  to  their  home  on 

Columbus  Avenue  much  pleased  with  their  visit. 

School  commenced,  and  every  thing  went  along 
after  the  usual  way. 

This  evening  Robert  and  Annie  will  expect  to 
hear  more  of  the  story  which  I  have  commenced  to 
tell  them,  thought  Mrs.  Southwick  ;  but  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  take  them  from  the  family  too  much.  I  will 
have  them  to-night,  and  I  think  it  would  be  better 
for  me  to  write,  as  I  have  some  letters  which  my 


38  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY. 

dear  friend  has  written  to  look  over,  and  those  I  have 
not  with  me. 

Evening  came,  and  after  tea  and  a  few  pleasant 
moments  spent  in  inquiries  how  the  day  had  been 
enjoyed  by  this  happy  family,  Aunt  Mary,  Robert 
and  Annie  withdrew  and  ran  up  stairs  to  find  a  nice 
warm  fire  awaiting  them. 

"With  great  impatience  I  have  been  waiting  for 
to-night,''  said  Annie. 

"So  have  I,"  said  Robert. 

Well,  my  dear  children,  we  left  Mrs.  May  in  a 
sorrowful  condition  about  her  little  boys.  She  was 
feeling  badly  because  they  were  obliged  to  work  in 
the  mill  when  really  they  ought  to  have  been  at 
school.  She  had  no  one  to  help  her  but  Jonathan, 
and  he  ought  to  be  at  school. 

Mr.  May  came  in  one  morning  and  told  his  wife 
if  she  would  get  Jonathan  ready  he  might  go  with 
him  and  help  him  get  some  wood  near  the  old  home 
stead. 

"  I  will  bundle  him  up  warm,  for  he  has  not  seemed 
well,  and  you  know  the  canker  rash  is  around,  and  I 
am  afraid  the  children  have  been  exposed,"  said 
Mrs.  May. 

But  he  went  and  had  a  nice  time  with  Nannie 
Lare  ;  although  she  was  quite  a  large  girl  by  this 
time  she  was  always  glad  to  see  her  younger  cousins. 
In  going  after  the  wood  Mr.  May  was  obliged  to 
cross  a  very  old  bridge  which  was  scarcely  fit  to  be 
used  at  all,  and  when  coming  home  he  spoke  to  his 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  39 

little  boy  just  after  crossing  the  bridge,  but,  hearing 
no  answer,  he  stopped  his  horses  and  ran  back,  there 
to  find  the  little  fellow  with  only  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders above  the  bridge.  He  had  nearly  fallen  through 
one  of  the  holes  in  the  bridge,  and  the  noise  of  the 
water  running  over  the  dam  and  the  rattling  of  the 
wagon  had  completely  drowned  his  cries.  It  was 
only  the  work  of  a  moment  for  his  father  to  lift  him 
out,  but  he  was  chilled  and  very  much  frightened. 

Mrs.  May  was  thoroughly  alarmed  when  she  found 
out  what  had  happened. 

He  was  kept  warm  as  possible,  but  the  next  morn- 
ing he  was  sick,  and  the  other  children,  even  the 
little  girl  of  three  years,  was  complaining.  Things 
looked  dark  for  the  Mays,  for  in  less  than  a  week 
the  baby,  Jonathan,  and  George  were  sick  with  the 
much-dreaded  scarlet  fever.  James  came  out  of  the 
mill  to  help  his  mother,  but  not  many  days  passed 
before  he  too  was  complaining.  He  was  not  quite 
so  sick  as  the  others  ;  but  what  would  his  mother  do 
now,  not  much  dependence  could  be  placed  on  her 
husband's  earnings.  George  was  a  great,  healthy 
boy  for  his  age  ;  he  and  his  rather  slender  brother 
Will  did  their  best,  but  to  make  a  long  story  short, 
all  five  of  them  were  sick  with  that  awful  disease. 
You  know  something  about  it,  for  you  have  heard 
your  mother  tell  you  what  a  fearful  time  they  had 
with  you  children  when  your  little  sister  Emma 
died. 

Mr.  May's  sister,  Lydia,  from  Cumberland,  came 


4O  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY. 

every  time  she  had  an  opportunity,  and  staid  awhile, 
although  it  was  two  miles  away  that  she  and  her  sis- 
ter lived. 

Little  Ann  was  very  sick ;  she  had  a  large  blister- 
plaster  on  her  left  arm,  and  she  took  cold  in  it,  in 
spite  of  her  mother's  tender  care,  and  a  fearful  scar 
always  remained. 

I  am  glad  to  say  death  did  not  visit  this  stricken 
household.  They  all  recovered,  but  it  was  a  long 
time  before  they  felt  strong  and  well  again. 

Nannie  Lare  had  gone  to  Wrenthan  to  visit  her 
father,  brothers  and  sisters.  Her  father  had  married 
again,  but  she  did  not  leave  her  kind  aunt  who  had 
taken  care  of  her  so  long. 

It  was  now  settled  cold  weather,  fearfully  cold, 
and  it  seemed  almost  impossible  for  poor  people  to 
keep  warm  and  comfortable,  and  Mrs.  May  prayed 
that  she  might  have  strength  given  her  to  keep  her 
dear  children  from  actual  suffering. 

It  was  now  the  last  of  January,  and  another  little 
baby  sister  was  added  to  this  numerous  family  ;  but, 
as  is  always  the  case,  she  brought  love  with  her,  with 
such  lovely  curly  hair  and  blue  eyes,  that  Mr.  May 
said  :  "  Now  I  have  a  little  girl  that  looks  like  me, 
sure." 

Will  had  lovely  curls,  and  his  hair  was  very  light, 
unlike  all  the  others. 

Ann  was  delighted  with  the  doll-baby,  as  she  called 
the  little  Sarah  ;  but  the  boys  looked  sad  when  they 
realized  that  their  mother's  task  would  be  harder 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  4! 

than  ever,  yet  they  loved  the  baby,  and  tried  to  do 
all  they  could  that  would  help  their  mother. 

The  baby  was  five  weeks  old  when  Mr.  May  came 
in  and  said :  "  I  will  go  away  to-day  and  get  some 
wood,  and  call  and  see  sisters  Lydia  and  Phebe,  and 
now  be  sure  and  not  expose  yourself  to  the  cold  ; 
baby  is  five  weeks  old  to-day,  but  if  you  are  not 
careful  you  will  take  cold." 

But  it  so  happened  that  some  few  articles  of  wash- 
ing needed  to  be  done,  and  Mrs  May  thought  she 
might  just  do  that,  and  she  would  be  so  careful. 
She  went  to  work  and  did  it,  and  hung  them  out,  and 
possibly  would  have  got  along  well  had  not  one  of 
the  women  who  lived  in  the  same  house  stopped  her, 
in  a  very  kindly  way,  and  talked  with  her,  in  utter 
ignorance  of  the  terrible  cold  her  neighbor  was  tak- 
ing. The  back  hall  where  they  stood  had  a  free 
draft  through,  and  although  she  stood  there  not  more 
than  three  minutes,  she  caught,  what  so  many  speak 
of  so  carelessly,  her  death  cold. 

That  night  when  her  husband  came  home  he 
found  his  wife  suffering  terribly. 

"O  Sallie,  what  have  you  done,  and  what  means 
these  chills,  and  what  shall  I  do,  no  doctor,  no  noth- 
ing to  help  us  ?  " 

Both  babies  crying,  and  soon  the  boys  would  come 
in  hungry,  but  nothing  for  their  supper.  They  must 
send  for  Lydia  or  somebody  ;  but  how  could  she 
get  there  until  morning,  and  so  cold  ?  Terrible  March 
weather  ;  the  wind  seemed  to  blow  a  hurricane 


42  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

When  the  boys  came  home  they  did  not  think 
about  supper,  but  one  took  care  of  the  little  Sarah 
and  another  got  hot  things  to  give  their  poor  mother 
to  drink,  and  George  knew  how  his  mother  heated 
water  and  put  it  in  a  jug  for  them  when  they  were 
sick,  so  he  fixed  one  and  put  it  to  his  mother's  feet. 
One  got  mustard  and  made  drafts  for  her,  but  their 
wood  was  green,  and  in  those  days  they  only  had  a 
fireplace  to  heat  their  house  with,  or  to  use  for  all 
their  cooking. 

Mr.  May  did  not  take  all  his  earnings  for  his  fam- 
ily's comforts,  and  he  was  away  from  his  shop  so 
much  that  people  would  not  come  to  get  their  work 
done ;  so  you  see  if  it  had  not  been  for  these  two 
boys  working  in  the  mill  they  would  have  starved  to 
death,  no  doubt. 

The  next  morning  found  Mrs.  May  much  worse. 
Mr.  May's  sisters  were  sent  for,  and  some  neighbors 
came  in ;  but  some  of  the  neighbors  were  as  bad  off 
as  the  May's,  many  of  the  men  spending  much  of 
their  earnings  and  that  of  their  children  at  the  rum- 
shops,  within  two  or  three  miles  from  home.  It  was 
free  rum  every  where.  Then  there  was  no  ten-hour 
law,  neither  prohibition.  The  factory  owners  and 
rum  sellers  had  every  thing  their  own  way. 

Lydia  May  came,  and  had  the  doctor  sent  for ; 
but  when  he  went  away  one  of  the  boys  heard  him 
say:  "Only  a  question  of  time,  madame,  only  a 
question  of  time  ;  she  is  past  my  help,  poor  woman. 
Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  before  ?  " 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  43 

The  child  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  but  a  fear- 
ful something  seemed  about. to  take  place. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  mother,  my  brother  and  sisters,  my 
boys  and  babies,  my  poor  husband  ; "  but  she  could 
say  no  more.  She  grew  weaker  and  weaker,  and  in 
less  than  one  week  from  the  time  she  was  first  taken 
sick,  six  little  motherless  children  and  a  grief-stricken 
father  and  husband  were  plunged  into  the  most  dis- 
tracting grief. 

"  Oh,  auntie,"  said  Robert  and  Annie,  "tell  us  no 
more  —  no  more  to-night;  I  can  see  it  all.  Oh, 
auntie  !  this  is  awful  trouble  :  just  think  if  my  mother 
had  left  us  that  way,"  and  tears  were  running  down 
Annie's  cheeks,  and  Robert  could  hardly  speak. 
As  they  bid  auntie  good  night  they  were  not  sur- 
prised to  see  big  tears  of  sympathy  in  the  eyes  of 
their  loving  aunt. 

After  they  went  out,  and  Mrs.  Southwick  could 
calmly  think,  she  made  up  her  mind  that  as  she  was 
to  stay  with  her  brother's  family  only  one  week  longer, 
she  would  not  sadden  their  young  hearts  by  relating 
any  more  of  this  life  experience,  but  with  a  view  of 
doing  Robert  good,  and  of  showing  Annie  what 
little  girls  had  to  bear  sometimes,  and  how  thankful 
they  ought  to  be  for  their  many  blessings.  She 
would  write  it  for  them,  and,  indeed,  she  felt  more 
thankful  herself  for  the  pleasant  paths  she  had  been 
led  through,  although  God  in  his  providence  saw  fit 
to  take  away  a  dear  kind  husband,  yet  he  had  left 
her  a  loving  daughter  and  many  dear  friends,  not  the 


44  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY. 

least  among  them  was  the  friendship  of  this  friend 
whose  early  life  she  was  now  calling  to  mind  so 
vividly. 

The  last  week  of  Mrs.  Southwick's  stay  with  her 
brother's  family  proved  to  be  a  very  pleasant  one. 
She  had  never  stayed  with  them  so  long  before,  and 
had  never  visited  Newton  until  now,  as  Mr.  Clark 
had  not  lived  there  but  eight  years,  he  having  moved 
from  Rumney,  N.H.,  where  he  carried  on  a  farm ; 
but  he  was  now  in  provision  business  in  Quincy 
Market,  Boston,  and  living  in  Newtonville.  Al- 
though he  loved  the  mountains  of  his  native  state, 
he  seemed  perfectly  contented  with  his  present  situ- 
ation, and  when  the  time  came  for  departure  she 
really  hoped  that  the  coming  season  would  find  her- 
self and  daughter  in  Newton.  With  many  good-byes 
and  affectionate  leave-takings,  with  promises  that  she 
would  certainly  come  again  the  coming  season  and 
bring  Nellie,  Mrs.  Southwick  stepped  into  the  cars 
at  Newtonville  for  Boston. 

Mr.  Ramsdell,  the  long-employed  station  agent, 
shook  hands  with  her,  as  he  had  seen  her  many 
times  with  his  friend's  family,  and  he  knew  she  was 
leaving  them  for  good,  as  they  had  questioned  him 
the  day  previous  concerning  the  express  train  for 
New  York,  and  found 'that  in  order  to  take  the  train 
that  she  wished  to,  she  would  have  to  go  into  Bos- 
ton first,  and  then  pass  through  Newton  on  her  way ; 
otherwise,  she  would  have  to  start  very  early  in  the 
morning. 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  45 

The  children  said  they  would  be  on  the  platform 
as  the  train  passed  through,  and  they  were  as  good 
as  their  word ;  but  they  received  no  great  satisfac- 
tion, as  the  train  flew  past  so  fast  they  could  only 
see  some  one  shaking  a  handkerchief  they  thought 
was  auntie,  but  could  not  tell  for  sure.  They  went 
home  feeling  quite  lonely,  for  Mrs.  Southwick  left 
su.ch  pleasing  impressions  with  all  she  knew.  She 
seemed  to  have  the  love  of  Christ  in  her  heart  spring- 
ing up  into  everlasting  joy  and  peace. 

Weeks  went  by,  and  the  Clarks  had  only  heard 
once  from  Mrs.  Southwick,  and  then  briefly  stating 
that  she  had  arrived  safely  in  Philadelphia,  and  that 
she  found  her  daughter  well  and  very  glad  to  see 
her,  but  not  forgetting  to  some  time  finish  her  story. 
She  spent  all  her  spare  moments  in  looking  up  old 
letters  and  writing  the  best  she  could  her  friend's 
early  history. 


46  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY. 


CHAPTER    II. 

LET  us  look  in  once  more  upon  the  family  so  be- 
reaved. The  mother  of  these  four  boys  and  two 
little  girls  lay  in  a  darkened  room,  cold  and  motion- 
less. Her  weary  hands  would  no  more  toil  from 
early  morn  until  late  at  night  for  those  she  too  well 
loved  for  her  feeble  strength  to  bear. 

Our  Heavenly  Father  in  his  providence  had  taken 
her  away  from  her  earthly  home  to  his  blessed  abode 
to  dwell  with  him,  where  the  inhabitants  thereof 
shall  not  say  "  I  am  sick."  She  had  fallen  asleep  in 
Jesus.  It  is  not  for  sweet,  patient  Sallie  May  that 
we  mourn,  but  for  the  dear  ones  left  behind. 

And  now  arrangements  must  be  made  to  send 
word  to  friends  far  distant, —  mother  and  two  sisters 
living  in  Newport.  One  had  just  buried  her  hus- 
band, and  was  left  with  two  little  children,  and  Mrs. 
Sawyer,  another  sister,  was  on  her  sick  bed. 

Her  only  brother  lived  in  Erie.-  It  did  not  seem 
possible  for  any  of  Mrs.  May's  relatives  to  be  pres- 
sent  at  the  funeral,  or  in  any  way  to  help  the  grief- 
stricken  family. 

The  ever-present  help,  Phebe  and  Lydia  May, 
were  doing  all  they  could  to  arrange  matters  for  the 
family.  They  took  the  little  Sarah  home,  and  learned 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  47 

her  to  eat  as  best  they  could.  Kind  neighbors  came 
in  and  tried  to  comfort  the  boys,  but  their  grief 
seemed  to  know  no  bounds.  James,  the  eldest, 
had  been  his  mother's  confidant,  and  he  and  Will 
seemed  to  fully  realize  their  great  loss,  while  the 
others  would  cry  and  play  by  turn,  "and  the  father 
walked  the  floor,  groaning  and  crying.  He  thought 
how,  in  times  past,  he  had  neglected  to  provide  for 
his  poor  dead  wife's  comforts,  and  how  often  she  had 
begged  of  him  to  drink  no  more,  but  to  stay  at  home 
with  her ;  but  he  would  not,  and  now  his  Sallie  had 
gone  —  gone,  never  to  smile  on  him  again  —  never  to 
plead  with  him  more  !  and  he  tried  to  promise  him- 
self he  would  do  better ;  but  what  if  he  did,  his  wife 
had  left  him  and  forever,  and  so  the  unhappy  man 
mourned  as  one  without  a  hope. 

The  village  of  Albion  is  situated  ten  miles  north 
of  Providence,  on  the  Blackstone  river,  in  Black- 
stone  Valley,  as  it  is  called.  The  river  separates 
the  towns,  and  it  forms  a  boundary  line  at  this  place, 
between  Cumberland  and  Smithfield.  As  you  enter 
the  village  from  the  old  stage  road  leading  from 
Woonsocket  to  Providence,  you  turn  off  the  main 
road  and  go  down  a  hill,  a  sandy,  crooked  road,  and 
for  nearly  half  the  way  it  is  all  woods  without  a 
house  to  cheer  the  lonely  road.  As  you  reach  the 
bottom  of  the  hill  there  is  one  small  cottage  house, 
all  alone,  no  other  within  quite  a  distance.  This 
house  seemed  to  stand  as  sentinal  over  the  gate  that 
was  placed  at  the  entrance  of  this  not  highly-favored 


48  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY. 

village.  In  this  cottage,  however,  dwelt  a  woman 
whom  one  might  think,  to  see  her  and  to  know  her 
former  history,  was  much  out  of  place,  and  so  she 
was.  Her  name  was  Deborah  Gill.  She  was  nearly 
forty-seven  years  old,  and  everyone,  whether  old  or 
young,  called  this  elderly  maiden  "aunt."  Her 
father  was  a  carpenter,  and  Samuel  Gill  was  called 
one  of  the  best  of  men.  He  gave  his  children,  fif- 
teen in  number,  a  good  education,  and  some  of  them 
trades.  He  lived  on  a  farm  one  mile  north-west  of 
Albion,  in  an  old  house  which  was  called  the  old 
"  Muzzy  House."  It  stood  down  in  a  lot  called  "  the 
meadow,"  near  the  stage  road  that  leads  from  Woon- 
socket  to  Providence,  on  the  Smithfield  side  of  the 
river. 

This  woman  had  so  many  peculiarities  that  her 
father  used  to  say  "  he  believed  she  was  the  only 
child  he  had  which  was  scarcely  worth  raising." 
She  grew  all  the  same  to  be  a  strong,  muscular 
woman,  although  not  at  all  coarse,  and  in  her  general 
appearance  and  conversation  could  act  the  American 
lady. 

She  had,  until  quite  recently,  lived  at  home  with 
her  aged  father,  and  would  go  here  and  there  teach- 
ing, but  seldom  more  than  one  term  at  a  place,  as 
her  discipline  was  altogether  too  severe.  She  could 
use  the  raw-hide  with  as  much  ease  as  she  could  do 
a  sum  in  arithmetic,  and  more  than  one  boy  weigh- 
ing as  much  as  she  did  has  felt  the  full  force  of  her 
muscular  arms.  She  was  five  feet  six  inches  tall. 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  49 

with  upright  figure,  and  was  perfectly  well.  She  had 
straight,  black  hair  sprinkled  with  gray,  low  forehead, 
gray  eyes,  and  a  nose  quite  large  at  the  end, 
thin,  compressed  lips,  straight  wrinkles  from  nose  to 
mouth,  long  teeth  well  filled  with  gold ;  these  she 
took  great  care  of,  always  after  eating  taking  a  string 
and  drawing  it  between  them.  When  the  Friend's 
School  was  first  opened  in  Providence  she  gave,  as 
an  opening  offering,  her  services  for  three  months  as 
teacher,  hoping  she  might  thus  help  the  school  and 
also  secure  a  good  situation  ;  but  as  a  parting  salute 
for  her  numerous  chastisements  she  had  inflicted 
upon  some  of  the  scholars,  was  this  :  As  she  stood 
upon  one  of  the  steps  of  a  building  belonging  to 
this  institution,  a  pail  of  water,  not  over  clean,  was 
unceremoniously  turned  over  her,  thus  ruining  a 
cloak  and  a  new  silk  bonnet. 

The  scholars  seemed  to  think  that  by  doing  this 
cowardly  trick  would  be  the  only  way  of  getting 
square  with  her,  as  one  of  her  modes  of  punishment 
was  ducking  their  heads  under  water  and  holding 
them  there  as  long  as  she  thought  it  best. 

So,  after  trials  of  teaching,  she  thought  she  would 
step  out  of  her  former  tracks  a  little,  so  she  hired 
this  cottage,  already  described,  and  took  boarders. 
She  had  one  Thomas  Mann  that  rather  troubled  her  ; 
he  was  of  a  good  family,  but  something  of  a  crank. 
He  would  take  the  liberty  of  frightening  her  by 
throwing  unsightly  articles  around  her  neck  ;  com- 
ing up  behind  her  he  would  delight  in  causing  her 


50  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

unnecessary  alarm.      He  was   obliged  to   leave    at 
last,  as  she  could  not  manage  her  half-crazy  boarder. 

When  the  girls  that  boarded  with  her  came  into 
the  house  the  night  previous  to  the  funeral,  they 
were  talking  about  the  death  of  the  blacksmith's 
wife,  and  how  destitute  the  family  were  for  things 
needful  for  the  funeral,  that  there  were  six  children 
to  be  cared  for. 

"Well,"  says  Deborah,  ''we  will  go  and  see  what 
they  need,  and  perhaps  we  can  help  them." 

(For  this  peculiar  woman  had  a  good  side  as 
well  as  a  cruel  one.) 

So,  they  went  down  into  the  village,  past  the 
school-house  which  was  on  the  left  side  of  the  street, 
the  only  building  until  they  reach  the  corner  of  the 
only  street  in  Albion  where  there  were  houses  on 
both  sides. 

They  turned  the  corner  to  the  left  until  they  \vere 
opposite  the  next  to  the  last  house  on  the  east  side 
of  the  street ;  they  then  crossed  over  and  inquired 
of  the  boy  that  came  to  the  door,  "  If  Benjamin  May 
lived  there." 

''Yes,  he  lives  here,  and  the  children,  but  mother 
has  gone  to  Heaven." 

"  But  we  will  come  in,"  said  Deborah 

"Who  told  you  that  your  mother  is  in  heaven  ?" 
asked  Miss  Knights, 

"  O,  my  mother  said  she  would  go  there  some 
time,  and  if  we  would  come  and  see  her  we  must  be 
good ;  we  will  be  good,  and  go  to  heaven  where  she 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  51 

is,"  so  said  little  Jonathan,  as  these  women  were 
going  up  stairs,  and  while  waiting  to  see  the  rest  of 
the  children  ami  their  father. 

They  were  soon  invited  to  view  the  remains  of 
the  sweet,  sad  woman  who  lay  so  peacefully  amid 
the  tears  and  grief  of  those  she  had  so  dearly  loved. 

"And  now,  Benjamin  May,"  said  Deborah,  "tell 
us  what  we  can  do  to  help  thy  family.  I  will  take 
these  children  home  and  fix  their  raiment  so  they 
can  attend  their  mother's  funeral  to-morrow,  if  thou 
wishest." 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  father,  "  all  but  Ann  ;  the  little 
one  has  gone  to  my  sister's  in  Cumberland,  and  I 
cannot  bear  to  be  left  without  any  of  them." 

This  man  had  great  love  for  his  children,  and  his 
marriage  had  been  a  purely  love  affair ;  but  rum  had 
entered  what  might  have  been  a  happy,  Christian  fam- 
ily, except  at  times  when  he  was  anything  but  affection- 
ate to  his  wife  and  children  whom  the  Lord  had,  in  his 
Providence,  bestowed  upon  him,  but  had  now,  in  a 
measure,  taken  from  him  ;  for  this  day  was  the  last 
they  would  all  be  under  the  same  roof. 

So  these  kind  persons  took  the  four  boys  home 
with  the  clothes  they  would  wear  the  next  day,  and 
they  worked  quite  late  that  night  to  get  the  little 
fellows  in  a  presentable  condition. 

In  the  morning  the  father  took  his  little  Ann  over 
to  the  house  of  Deborah  Gill,  as  he  had  told  the 
boys  if  they  would  go  with  these  women  he  would 


52  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

come  in  the  morning  with  her,  as  they  felt  bad  to 
leave  their  mother  and  baby  Ann. 

Short  services  were  held  at  the  house,  and  then  a 
hearse  and  a  few  carriages  were  seen  winding  around 
the  corner  of  the  street  on  which  they  lived,  down 
the  rugged  road  leading  over  the  bridge  where  Jona- 
than so  narrowly  escaped  drowning,  up  the  stony, 
rough  road  leading  to  the  main  road  between  Woon- 
socket  and  Providence,  on  the  Cumberland  side,  by 
the  old  homestead  where  happily  unconscious  lay 
little  Sarah  fast  asleep  in  Nannie  Lare's  arms,  as  she 
sat  looking  out  of  the  window  as  the  procession 
moved  past.  She  could  see  her  uncle  and  cousins, 
her  aunts,  her  uncle  Henry's  family,  and  a  few  others. 
A  little  farther  on  they  entered  the  Jenks  burial 
ground ;  a  little  way  from  the  entrance,  on  the  first 
stone  you  see,  reads:  "Jonathan  May,  died  1806." 
*J  his  was  the  grave  of  the  grand-father  of  these 
children,  many  years  later  marked  the  resting  place 
of  his  wife,  and  then  the  stone  marked  ''  Emily  May  " 
was  for  a  lovely  and  only  daughter  of  Henry  May's. 
A  weeping  willow  silently  and  sadly  waves  over  the 
gravt:  of  this  dearly -beloved  child. 

They  pass  these,  leaving  them  at  the  right,  and 
proceed  toward  the  south  wall  of  the  yard,  yet  not  far 
from  the  lot  containing  the  members  of  the  May 
family.  Here  they  laid  the  beloved  remains  of 
Sallie  May. 

No  relatives  of  hers  ever  laid  beside  her  lonely 
grave  until,  forty  eight  years  after,  one  lovely  April 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  53 

day,  the  husband  of  her  youth,  at  the  good  old  age 
of  eighty-six  years,  was  laid  quietly  beside  her  by 
his  affectionate  children  and  grand  children :  sepa- 
rated in  life  so  many  years,  united  in  death  ! 

The  friends  all  went  to  Phebe  and  Lydia  May's 
and  took  dinner  after  the  burial,  but  they  never  all 
met  together  again.  The  baby  was  to  stay  there; 
Deborah  said  she  would  take  Ann  and  treat  her  as 
her  own,  and,  if  George  would  come,  too,  he  could 
do  chores  for  her  and  go  to  school.  As  she  seemed 
so  kind,  no  one  hesitated  to  let  her  have  the  care 
of  these  two  motherless  children,  they  not  knowing 
her  cruel  disposition  toward  those  dependent  upon 
her.  She  had  never  had  the  care  of  such  tender 
plants  as  these,  and,  really,  she  knew  nothing  about 
the  care  of  little  children,  but  supposed  they  must 
do  the  same  as  old  persons. 

Indeed,  they  felt  pleased  that  such  a  kind  woman 
would  take  them,  for,  in  those  days,  if  the  mother 
was  taken  away,  the  family  was  broken  up,  the 
children  finding  homes  any  where  they  could. 

Mr.  May  could  stay  with  his  sisters  for  a  few 
days  ;  the  little  boys  could  stay  with  Mr.  May's 
cousins,  the  Whipples,  until  they  could  manage 
their  affairs. 

So  it  happened  that  Benjamin  May  carried  his 
little  rosy-cheeked  girl  to  Deborah's,  and  after  he 
was  eighty  years  old  he  said  he  well  remembered 
how  Ann  stood  in  the  door-way,  and  held  her  little 


54  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

hands  out  to  him,  and  cried,  "  Papa,  papa ; "  but 
he  had  to  force  himself  away. 

Mr.  May  kept  Jonathan  with  him  ;  he  was  his 
favorite,  and  he  took  quite  good  care  of  him,  only 
he  was  obliged  to  go  here  and  there  wherever  his 
work  took  him.  Some  were  kind  to  him,  and  some 
abused  him  ;  —  no  loving  mother  to  caress  him 
wrhen  he  felt  sick  and  lonely,  but  had  to  play  in  the 
street  and  take  care  of  himself  as  best  he  could. 

Deborah's  father  had  built  a  new  house  very  near 
the  roa«d,  and  a  little  north-west  of  the  old  home. 
Her  father  and  mother  were  now  both  dead,  and 
the  homestead  fell  into  her  possession.  She  had 
now  a  comfortable  home  in  her  own  name,  by  pay- 
ing some  money,  and  at  once  moved  from  Albion  to 
the  old  farm,  and  went  to  farming,  which  she  did 
quite  successfully.  She  had  those  two  children  to 
care  for,  but  she  meant  to  make  it  pay. 

After  Mr.  May  left  Ann  and  the  baby  Sarah  with 
his  sisters,  and  Willie  and  James  to  find  places  for 
themselves,  he  seemed  to  shirk  all  care  and  re- 
sponsibility for  them,  and  with  his  favorite,  Jona- 
than, went  hither  and  thither  without  seeming  to 
care  whether  his  children  were  provided  for  or  not. 

After  Ann  had  ceased  crying  for  her  papa,  De- 
borah told  her  that  her  mother  was  dead,  and  if  she 
had  not  died  she  would  not  have  taken  good  care  of 
her,  and  as  for  old  Benjamin  May,  "  he  wasn't  any- 
body and  don't  thee  let  me  see  thee  crying  any 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  55 

more."  But  Ann  did  not  know  what  all  this 
meant. 

And  when  she  would  sit  her  in  a  chair  and  tell 
her  to  sit  there  for  an  hour  because  she  cried  for 
her  mother  and  brothers  and  little  baby  sister,  Ann 
cried  all  the  harder,  but  this  must  be  stopped  and 
as  Deborah  had  no  loving,  affectionate  feeling  in 
her  heart  she  could  not  soothe  the  child's  distress ; 
but  her  word  was  law  and  instead  of  kind  words 
to  accomplish  her  purpose,  she  resorted  to  every 
method  but  the  right  one. 

So  Ann  was  severely  shaken  and  her  little  ears 
were  most  unmercifully  boxed  by  this  woman  who 
sent  her  to  bed  without  supper,  and  Ann  would  cry, 
"  mother,  mother,  come  from  Heaven  and  take  your 
little  Ann,"  but  if  Deborah  heard  her  she  would 
come  to  her  and  with  spanks  from  her  great,  hard 
hand  Ann  would  again  cry  until  she  fell  asleep. 
To  do  justice  to  this  woman,  this  manner  of  treat- 
ment she  thought  was  the  only  way  of  training  up 
a  child  in  the  way  it  should  go.  She  did  not  hate 
the  child  ;  neither  did  she  love  or  pity  her.  She 
thought  she  had  done  a  great  deed  of  charity  and 
one  that  the  world  would  give  her  unbounded 
praise  for. 

She  thought  Ann  would  soon  be  large  enough  to 
help  her  about  her  work  if  she  began  right  with 
her  ;  and  that  George  would  do  chores ;  she  had  a 
wonderful  faculty  of  planning  ;  in  fact,  she  was  a 
great  money  getter,  and  often  doing  very  gener- 


56  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

ous  deeds  and  real  acts  of  kindness  outside  and 
nearly  starving  her  poor,  helpless  children  under 
her  own  roof.  To  better  understand  the  home  life 
of  our  two  young  friends  I  will  describe  their  home. 

The  old  homestead  house  was  taken  away  and 
all  you  will  find  to  mark  the  spot  is  the  well,  and 
that  is  to  be  filled  up. 

The  new  house  stands  in  quite  a  hollow  on  the 
east  side  of  the  old  stage  road  fronting  the  south, 
the  end  being  next  the  road  ;  quite  a  high  stone 
wall  rui^s  the  whole  length  of  the  farm ;  at  the 
entrance  grew  a  walnut-tree,  and  to  this  hung  the 
gate  which  was  not  only  unique  but  strong.  The 
house  was  built  by  Samuel  Gill  and  built  much 
after  the  fashion  of  houses  of  that  time  when  built 
for  the  owner's  use.  Two-story  with  L,  every- 
thing about  the  house  was  solid,  quaint  and  seemed 
to  be  made  to  stand  forever. 

Let  us  go  into  the  L  door,  for  the  front  door 
being  so  seldom  used  it  may  creak  on  its  loud,  old- 
fashioned  hinges  ;  here  in  this  L  there  are  places, 
one  will  notice,  the  plan  of  which  must  have  been 
quite  original.  At  the  right  is  one  quite  narrow 
window  looking  toward  the  south  :  on  the  east  side 
is  a  large  chimney  with  open  fire-place,  at  the  right 
of  which  is  a  large  brick  oven.  Here  were  baked 
pumpkin  pies,  beans,  brown  bread,  Indian  pudding ; 
and  who  does  not  know, that  Deborah  was  a  most 
excellent  cook,  but  she  fed  those  under  her  care 
with  such  a  stingy  hand  that  it  was  often  said  she 


ty,  ^       ,/         :- s;  •        -        -  .        •> 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  57 

gave  them  milk  skimmed  on  both  sides,  and  not  half 
enough  of  that. 

Then  there  was  the  set  kettle  where  she  boiled 
swill  for  the  pigs  ;  then  a  door  leading  out  ;  as  you 
step  down,  there  is  a  square  drain  stoned  up  so  that 
it  looked  like  a  box. 

On  the  north  side  were  open  cupboards,  and  the 
well  was  so  arranged  as  to  turn  water  from  the  out- 
side if  desired  ;  then  an  outside  door  ;  a  cellar 
door  some  six  feet  wide,  the  great  stone  steps,  some 
ten  in  number,  running  down  from  east  to  west,  thus 
forming  a  jog  and  taking  up  a  great  deal  of  room. 
Over  the  cellar-way  was  a  meal-chest,  wholly  unlike 
anything  of  the  kind  ever  seen.  At  the  left,  up 
so  high  that  one  had  to  take  two  long  steps,  was  a 
very  large  chest ;  in  it  were  partitions  which  would 
hold  large  quantities  of  different  kinds  of  meal  ;  in 
the  centre  was  a  long  narrow  place,  with  sticks  for 
the  sieve  to  slide  upon,  and  places  for  bran,  and  a 
seat  so  fixed  that  one  could  sit  and  sift  meal  hours  at  a 
time  ;  on  the  right  was  a  great  shelf  where  the  large 
wooden  bowl  for  brown  bread  was  kept, — the  iron- 
ing-sheet, and  all  such  things;  then  the  door  leading 
up  the  back  stairs  ;  another  leading  into  the  sitting- 
room.  The  broad  boards  of  the  L  floor  were  of 
oak,  but  the  part  of  the  room  where  the  well  was 
was  made  of  stone. 

The  well-rope  run  thus  in  a  long,  narrow  box, 
reaching  through  the  little  garret  over  the  L  ;  then 
in  boxes  to  the  extreme  top  the  house.  On  the  end 


58  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

was  fastened  a  long  iron  weight  that  came  down 
through  boxes  that  looked  like  posts  in  the  corner 
of  the  room.  When  the  bucket  was  being  filled  the 
weight  was  at  the  extreme  top  of  the  house  ;  when  the 
weight  came  down,  it  went  rattle-to-bang  all  the  way 
from  the  top  of  the  house  to  the  bottom  of  the 
cellar. 

Before  leaving  the  L,  we  will  go  down  cellar  ; 
ten  stone  steps  with  the  timbers  for  rolling  cider 
down  on,  lay  at  the  side.  In  the  northwest  corner 
is  a  room  parted  off  for  a  milk  cellar.  This  is 
nicely  whitewashed  and  has  flag-stones  for  the  floor. 
In  the  centre  of  the  cellar  is  the  chimney;  in  the 
chimney  is  a  small  sheet-iron  door  ;  if  you  push 
this  up  and  look  in,  you  will  see  it  is  for  ashes,  thus 
secure  from  fire  ;  on  the  left  are  tubs,  barrels,  veget- 
able-bins and  things  usually  kept  in  farmer's  cellars. 

After  entering  the  sitting-room,  directly  at  the 
right  was  a  broad  stair  and  a  door  leading  up  the 
back  stairs  ;  then  another  door  leading  into  a  large 
pantry  which  -had  nice,  great  shelves,  and  deep 
drawers.  The  shelves  were  filled  with  old-style 
dishes,  many  of  them  left  to  her  by  her  parents. 
The  windows  had  shutters  to  slide,  so  that  curtains 
were  not  used.  The  walls  were  dark  green,  the 
wood-work  grained  the  old-fashioned  oak  style. 
Not  a  picture  to  relieve  the  dark  walls.  On  the 
right  of  the  fire-place  was  another  large  brick 
oven. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  59 

The  chambers  were  the  same  as  the  rooms  down 
stairs,  only  in  the  room  over  Deborah's  sleeping 
room,  behind  a  large  chest  in  which  bedding  was 
kept,  there  was  another  little  door.  This  opened 
into  a  great  chasm,' it  seemed  to  be,  over  the  oven 
in  the  sitting-room. 

The  garret  stairs  led  out  of  the  upper  entry  lead- 
ing into  the  centre  of  the  great  garret.  Here  in  the 
centre  was  the  large  chimney  and  great  beams  and 
rafters.  Overhead,  all  sorts  of  old  hatchels,  spin- 
ning-wheels for  wool,  flax  and  looms  packed  under 
the  eaves,  baskets  of  herbs,  chests  with  salt  coarse 
and  fine,  old  frames  for.  making  harnesses  for  the 
factories,  and  the  old  cradle  that  all  Samuel  Gill's 
children  had  been  rocked  in  ;  old  tin  ware,  chests 
of  bedding  and  an  old  flock  bed  that  somebody  had 
made  of  woolen  rags,  cut  up  fine;  and,  altogether, 
it  was  a  much  furnished  garret. 

No  pictures,  no  ornaments,  graced  this  maiden's 
abode,  but  things  useful  and  those  she  really  needed 
she  had. 

Halfway  up  the  front  stairs  at  the  left  was  a  little 
door  opening  into  a  place  in  the  great  chimney, 
prepared  for  smoking  hams,  and  under  the  stairs  a 
dark  closet. 

The  house  was  shingled  instead  of  being  clap- 
boarded.  In  front  of  the  L,  Deborah  had  set  out 
one  rock-maple  ;  on  each  side  of  the  front  door 
were  cherry-trees  ;  on  the  east  side  was  a  sweet- 
briar  bush  that  was  tacked  on  to  the  house,  which 


60  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

nearly  reached  the  chamber  window,  and  on  the 
same  side  were  different  kinds  of  rose-bushes ;  on 
the  left  side  of  the  plain  stone  step  were  lilies-of- 
the-valley,  old  maid  pinks,  but  as  Deborah  called 
them  "Indian  pinks."  At  each  corner  of  the 
house  were  snow-berry  bushes,  a  lovely  linden-tree 
near  the  drive  way,  also  a  flowering  cherry-tree  that 
never  bore  fruit,  two  lovely  elms  close  together 
near  the  gate  that  opened  into  the  orchard  oppo- 
site the  house,  plum-trees,  pears  and  apples 
shaded  the  yard  beautifully,  an  elegant  syringa 
and  white-rose  bushes  nearly  reached  the  cham- 
ber windows  on  the  west  side  ;  a  Jarge  lilac  shaded 
the  pantry  window,  on  the  north  side  were  cherry- 
trees  and  an  early  jenneting  apple-tree,  also  two 
large  pear-trees  ;  under  the  shade  of  one  a  bee- 
house  was  built  which  usually  contained  five  or  six 
hives.  In  the  northeast  corner  of  the  yard  was  the 
leech  barrel  placed  on  a  large  stone,  the  under- 
pinning of  which  formed  shelves  of  stone  ;  a  car- 
penter's shop  and  grainery  on  the  east  side,  a  long 
pen  for  pigs,  a  building  in  which  was  a  tool-house 
and  a  cheese-house,  in  the  rear,  wood-house,  car- 
riage-house under  which  was  a  place  for  farm 
wagons. 

North  of  the  house  were  two  quince-orchards 
she  had  set  out  quite  recently  ;  back  of  that  was 
an  apple-orchard  in  which  was  a  rocky  high  hill ; 
on  the  top  were  two  stunted  apple-trees,  on  one 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  6 1 

side  a  large  butternut-tree  ;  the  rocks  were  covered 
with  grape-vines,  flowers  and  bushes. 

She  hired  men  that  she  could  get  cheap  and 
worked  out  of  doors  much  of  the  time  with  them 
herself,  which  annoyed  them  very  much. 

One  year  she  refused  to  pay  her  road  tax  so 
she  went  to  work  it  out.  The  men  were  ashamed 
to  have  her  there,  so  they  very  politely  sent  her 
into  the  house ;  some  men  she  hired  to  lay  a 
stone  wall  but  she  thought  she  would  help  them, 
and  went  to  work  until  she  found  that  the  men 
were  taking  her  work  to  pieces  as  fast  as  she  did 
it ;  she  took  great  pride  in  her  flower  garden,  the 
entrance  of  which  was  near  the  gate.  Leading  to 
the  road  near  the  gate  was  an  arbor  with  a  run- 
ning locust-vine  which  made  a  lovely  shade.  On 
the  right  of  the  walk  next  to  the  road  were  beds 
of  strawberries,  asparagus,  wrhite  and  red  currant 
bushes,  on  the  left  a  small  tamerack  tree  which 
she  had  planted  to  be  placed  on  her  grave  at 
some  future  day. 

A  small  hemlock  grew  gracefully  near  the  arbor  ; 
on  the  left  of  the  walk  were  flower  beds  in 
which  were  plants  of  box ;  many  different  shaped 
trellises  with  running  rose-bushes,  sweet  peas  and 
every  kind  of  running  plants  she  could  think  of  ; 
also  a  large  camomile  bed  and  hollyhocks  of  all 
kinds  and  colors,  and  a  white  lilac  hung  most  grace- 
fully over  the  garden  wall. 


62  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER   III. 

Ann  was  now  four  years  old.  She  had  learned  to 
read  some,  so  had  George ;  it  was  Deborah's 
custom  to  read  the  Bible  every  morning  and  all  her 
household  two  verses  each,  usually  reading  one  or 
two  chapters.  Ann  had  got  so  she  could  read 
quite  well  except  the  hard  words  ;  but  she  had  her 
lessons  and  if  she  did  not  get  them  she  was  sent 
to  bed  without  her  supper,  and  then  get  up  the 
next  morning  and  learn  them  before  she  had  her 
breakfast. 

George  was  kept  at  work  not  being  allowed  to 
have  any  play  hours  ;  and,  when  Deborah  thought 
him  lazy,  she  would  lay  him  on  the  floor  and  lash 
him  fearfully  with  a  raw-hide.  He  would  be 
stented  to  do  just  so  much,  picking  up  stones  or 
potatoes  or  apples ;  and  if  he  did  not  complete  it, 
the  hungry  little  fellow  would  not  have  any  supper. 

She  kept  a  bunch  of  birch  sticks  tied  up,  so  as 
to  whip  these  children  on  their  naked  flesh.  She 
would  take  George  in  the  shop  cellar  and  whip  him 
unmercifully. 

It  was  a  very  cold  day  in  January,  and  piles  of 
wood  had  been  already  cut  and  packed  in  the 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY,  63 

wood-house,  but  Deborah  said  George  must  cut 
some  more  that  day ;  in  vain  he  begged  and  cried 
to  wait  until  it  was  warmer,  but  with  a  cuff  she  told 
him  to  go  out  and  not  come  in  again  until  he  had 
got  the  pile  cut  up.  He  did  it,  but  his  feet  were 
frozen,  and  his  ears  and  fingers  ached  so  that  he 
cried,  and  cried  with  pain. 

Deborah  was  obliged  to  attend  to  him  and  it  was 
thought  he  would  loose  his  feet,  he  never  got  over 
the  effects  of  that  day's  work.  These  children 
had  not  seen  their  father  nor  their  baby  sister,  and 
Ann  had  nearly  forgotten  her ;  but  George  quite 
often  told  her  that  she  had  a  little  sister  over  in 
Cumberland,  and  a  father  and  brother  somewhere. 

When  they  were  all  alone,  he  would  tell  her  that 
as  soon  as  he  was  big  enough  he  would  go  away 
and  work,  and  when  he  got  to  be  a  man  he  would 
come  and  get  her,  and  she  would  not  be  whipped 
or  go  to  bed  hungry. 

Deborah  was  a  great  knitter,  and  she  boasted  of 
sitting  up  all  night  on  an  old  loom  they  had  in  the 
sitting-room  chamber,  with  her  sister  Freelove,  and 
knitting  herself  a  stocking  by  moonlight.  One 
day  she  called  Ann  to  her  and  said  :  "thou  art  four 
years  old  now,  and  I  cannot  have  thee  idle  thy  time 
away  more.  Here  is  some  black  sheep's  yarn  for 
thee  ;  I  will  cast  on  the  stitches  and  thee  tie  this 
string  around  thy  waist ;  and  here  is  a  cob  with  a 
place  made  in  it  to  hold  thy  needle, —  there,  that 
way."  Showing  her  how  to  place  it.  "  None  of 


64  THREE   HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

thy  pouting  now  ;  sit  down  on  that  stair  and  sit 
there  until  I  call  thee." 

Ann  was  quick  to  learn  ;  she  had  often  seen 
Deborah  knit,  so  after  much  dropping  of  stitches 
and  mistakes,  she  had  to  show  her  work.  "  Thee 
good  for  nothing  trollop !  "  said  Deborah,  "if  thee 
drop  any  more  stitches,  thee  shall  not  have  a 
mouthful  of  dinner." 

Tears  ran  down  the  little  girl's  cheeks,  but  as 
young  as  she  was  she  knew  that  crying  would  only 
bring  blows  from  Deborah's  big  hand,  so  she  tried 
hard  to  knit  it  right  and  she  carried  it  to  Deborah, 
and  she  tcld  her  to  knit  a  finger's  length,  then 
bring  it  to  her. 

It  was  some  days  before  she  could  measure  the 
right  length  and  then  something  ivas  wrong,  she 
thought  it  did  not  look  quite  right.  "Don't  thee 
know  thee  has  been  widening  all  this  time  ?  Now 
thee  go  to  work  and  pull  it  all  out,  and  thee 
dare  to  eat  another  mouthful  again  to-day  ; "  and 
so  this  little  girl  of  four  years  was  compelled  to 
work  and  cry,  as  each  day  she  would  be  stented 
out  of  all  reason. 

In  after  years  she  was  told  how  smart  she  was, 
to  knit  herself  a  pair  of  stockings  when  she  was 
but  four  years  old. 

Although  everything  looked  dark  for  the  future 
of  these  two  motherless  children,  the  cloud  had  a 
silver  lining.  At  a  little  distance  from  Deborah's 
house  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  stood  what 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  65 

was  called  the  old  Lapham  house  which  \vas  built 
in  1763,  and  has  always  been  kept  in  the  family 
name.  A  part  of  it  was  now  let  to  a  family 
working  at  Albion  ;  they  took  their  milk  of 
Deborah  and  Ann  would  carry  it  over  to  them, 
but  was  not  allowed  to  get  acquainted  with  the 
children.  But  she  loved  to  see  little  faces,  and 
then  to  see  the  fire-places  in  the  corner  of  the 
rooms  looked  different  from  those  at  home,  and 
she  often  washed  she  could  change  places  with 
those  little  ragged,  but  happy  children  ;  they  had 
a  mother  to  love  them.  So  she  would  walk  home 
slowly,  thinking  and  wondering  if  all  little  girls 
who  had  a  mother  in  heaven  had  an  Aunt  Deborah. 

On  a  cross  road  southwest  of  Deborah's  lived 
her  brother  George  Gill,  who  was  a  carpenter  and 
took  contracts  for  building  for  miles  around. 

What  is  now  used  for  a  Town  Hall  in  Belling- 
ham,  Mass.,  once  was  a  church  and  built  by  him  ; 
the  house  he  built  for  himself  was  much  like 
Deborah's  in  plan  ;  both  houses  had  in  some  rooms 
long  wooden  pegs  to  hang  clothes  upon,  and  also 
narrow  windows  with  sliding  shutters. 

He  too  had  a  nice  carpenter's  shop.  He  died 
soon  after  Ann  came  to  live  at  his  sister's,  and  his 
widow  who  was  quite  old  and  infirm,  had  rooms 
in  the  west  end  of  the  house,  and  her  married 
daughter  Olive  occupied  the  rest  of  the  house. 
She  had  a  very  kind  husband,  and  two  boys  named 


66  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

Augustus  and  Stafford,  and  a  little  girl  very  near 
Ann's  age  named  Emma. 

A  little  farther  along  stood  another  house  owned 
by  the  Willards,  and  there  were  two  girls  and  two 
boys  ;  this  was  not  the  public  road  so  in  order  to 
go  through  to  get  over  on  the  road  leading  from 
Woonsocket  to  Providence  by  Limerock,  one  was 
obliged  to  pass  through  a  number  of  gateways. 

On  that  road  was  situated  the  old  Judge  Man- 
ning Tavern,  a  little  farther  on  was  a  small  build- 
ing with  the  sign  "Cake  and  beer  for  sale  here," 
and  at  Limerock  was  the  old  tavern  kept  by  Nat 
Mowrey ;  thus  liquor  could  be  had  very  easily. 
One  day  as  Emma's  mother  was  looking  out  of  her 
sitting-room  window,  she  saw  a  man  coming  on 
horseback  whom  she  recognized  as  George  L. 
Barnes  ;  he  drove  up  to  the  gate  and  thought  in 
order  to  save  time,  he  would  reach  over  and  un- 
fasten the  gate  without  dismounting  ;  but  for  her 
amusement  he  lost  his  balance  and  over  he  went 
head  first.  She  thought  it  must  have  hurt  him,  but 
he  picked  himself  up  all  right,  and  led  the  horse 
along  to  the  next  gate  and  went  that  way,  until  he 
had  passed  them  all. 

Some  months  later,  it  so  happened  that  a  school 
was  kept  in  one  of  the  chambers  of  Job  Manning's 
house  for  the  benefit  of  their  own  and  neighbor's 
children. 

Deborah  after  much  coaxing  consented  to  let 
George  and  Ann  go.  There  were  the  four  Willard 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  67 

children,  three  Mannings  and  children  of  the  late 
Seneca  Gill,  whose  widow  lived  there. 

They  got  a  teacher  from  Woonsocket  a  Miss 
Isis  Steer ;  they  liked  her  very  much  and  Ann  was 
so  taken  up  with  the  acquaintance  of  these 
children,  that  all  the  punishments  she  got  from 
Deborah  she  could  bear,  if  she  could  only  go  to 
Job  Manning's  house  and  go  to  school  and  play 
with  those  children.  If  she  carried  her  dinner  it 
would  be  either  a  cold  potato  or  a  piece  of  Indian 
cake  or  perhaps  a  cracker.  But  many  a  time  Olive 
Manning  gave  her  something  more  to  eat,  until 
Deborah  found  it  out  and  then  she  punished  Ann 
for  accepting  it,  by  putting  her  head  into  a  pail  of 
water  and  holding  it  there  as  long  as  she  dared. 

Olive  could  see  by  Ann's  looks  that  she  had 
been  punished  oftentimes,  but  did  not  like  to 
question  her.  Noons  Aunt  Olive  Gill  would  let 
Ann  and  Emma  come  in  her  room,  and  she  would 
always  try  to  have  Ann  have  a  nice  time  by  showing 
her  every  attention  ;  the  room  always  looked  pleas- 
ant and  in  cold  weather  with  a  bright  fire  burning 
in  the  fire-place  and  a  nice  easy-chair,  broad  but 
shallow,  Emma  and  Ann  could  both  sit  in  it  and 
rock. 

On  the  walls  were  hung  framed  samplers  worked 
on  yellow  canvas ;  in  the  chairs  were  nice  soft 
cushions  covered  with  woolen  cloth  on  which 
were  sewed  cats,  birds,  flowers  with  pretty  vines, 
all  cut  out  of  pieces  of  various  colored  cloth  and 


68  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE    CHIMNEY, 

chain-stitch  worked  around  the  edges ;  on  the 
floors  of  many  of  the  rooms  were  fleeces  of  wool 
for  mats,  where  the  sheep  or  lamb  would  die  and 
the  wool  would  not  be  worth  saving  for  any  other 
purpose. 

George  began  to  go  to  school  but  Deborah  was 
afraid  that  it  would  make  him  saucy,  she  said,  so 
the  little  fellow  had  to  stay  at  home.  Only  a  few 
weeks  had  passed  after  the  school  had  began,  that 
she  was  afraid  Ann  would  learn  so  much  that  she 
would  be  saucy,  too.  So  one  morning  after  she 
had  got  ready  for  school,  she  was  told  to  take  off 
her  school  clothes  and  take  her  knitting  and  not 
look  up  until  she  had  knit  ten  times  around.  "  I'll 
see  if  thee  is  going  over  to  Olive's  to  be  made  a 
baby  of;  thee  can  read  and  that  is  enough,"  said 
Deborah.  So  with  a  heavy  heart  Ann  sat  down 
on  the  stair  in  the  sitting-room  ;  she  was  thinking 
of  the  nice  times  she  had  been  having,  and  now 
she  could  not  see  her  teacher  whom  she  dearly 
loved,  and  her  hands  ceased  to  move,  all  uncon- 
sciously, but  whack  went  Ann's  head  against  the 
table ;  she  had  been  struck  by  Deborah's  flat 
hand.  A  great  bunch  swelled  upon  her  head  and 
she  came  near  fainting,  but  Deborah  caught  her  by 
her  left  arm  and  pinched  it  on  the  scar  where  there 
was  no  flesh.  Ann  screamed  with  pain  and  it  was  a 
longtime  before  she  could  knit. 

"  Not  one  mouthful  of  dinner  will  thee  have  to- 
day ;  I'll  see  who'll  be  mistress  here  ;  thee  keep  on 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  69 

with  thy  bird's-egging  and  see  how  thee'll  come 
out."  And  thus  the  little  girl  not  yet  five  years  old, 
learned  to,  fear  this  woman  as  she  would  a  wild 
animal,  for,  when  she  least  expected  it,  bang  would 
go  her  flat  hand,  or,  better,  would  take  off  her  No.  7 
calf-skin  slipper. 

The  men  who  worked  for  her  were  not  afraid  to 
tell  of  her  unjust  cruelty  and  it  reached  the  ears  of 
Olive  Gill  who  felt  it  her  duty  to  write  Deborah  a 
letter.  But  she  got  a  denial  of  the  whole  thing  ; 
she  said  the  neighbors  were  trying  to  get  the  chil- 
dren to  leave  her  after  she  had  done  so  much  for 
them. 

She  had  a  great  many  nieces  and  nephews,  and 
they  would  come  and  work  for  her  and,  also,  to  visit, 
so  it  was  seldom  that  she  was  without  them  ;  and  as 
they  went  to  their  cousin  Olive's  they  would  tell  her 
how  George  and  Ann  were  abused  by  their  aunt. 
But  how  to  help  them  they  did  not  know,  so  they 
tried  to  make  the  children  happy  whenever  they 
could.  All  of  her  relatives  were  kind  to  these 
motherless  children. 

Emma  Manning  and  Louisa  Gill  would  visit  Ann 
as  often  as  possible.  The  children  would  playfully 
call  Louisa  "  squeezer." 

As  long  as  aunt  Olive  Gill  could  walk  as  far  as 
Deborah's,  she  would  take  her  cane  and  go  down 
over  across  the  plank  that  was  placed  over  the  brook 
and  over  across  the  lots  to  Deborah's  house.  When 


70  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

it  was  time  to  go  home,  Ann  would  go  with  her  to 
see  that  she  did  not  get  hurt. 

This  good  old  woman  was  born  in  1763,  in  the 
old  Lapham  house,  which  was  not  quite  completed 
at  that  time,  and,  as  long  as  she  could,  she  loved  to 
visit  the  house  of  her  birth. 

She  was  taken  sick  some  few  years  later,  and  after 
a  short  illness  she  died.  Surely,  the  Lord  rejoiceth 
in  the  death  of  his  saints  !  When  Ann  was  told 
that  aunt  Olive  had  died  the  night  before,  she  felt 
that  she  had  lost  a  dear  old  friend.  She  often  went 
in  the  room  where  aunt  Olive  used  to  stay  so  much, 
but  which  had  been  changed  a  little,  as  it  had  been 
used  as  a  parlor  since  her  death.  It  had  the  samp- 
lers on  the  walls,  the  same  kitties  laid  on  the  cush- 
ions, and  the  birds  and  flowers  were  all  the  same, 
but  the  shutters  were  kept  nearly  closed,  and  no  fire 
.on  the  lonely  hearth.  The  living  soul  had  gone 
home,  there  to  meet  two  lovely  daughters  and  many 
of  the  dear  friends  that  had  gone  before,  to  dwell 
forever  with  her  Lord. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  71 


CHAPTER  IV. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  May  that  two  ladies 
called  at  Deborah's  and  inquired  of  her  niece,  An- 
gelina Stone,  if  Miss  Gill  was  at  home.  She  told 
them  that  she  was  and  to  be  seated.  She  put  on  her 
sun-bonnet  and  went  down  into  the  potato-field  and 
found  Deborah  and  Ann  both  dropping  potatoes, 
while  George  and  the  hired  man  covered  them. 

"  Now,  thee  keep  at  work,  George,  and  Ann  and  I 
will  be  back  soon." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen  and  unpinned  her  dress 
which  was  fastened  by  the  hem,  around  her  waist ; 
she  took  her  handkerchief  off  her  head  and  put  on 
her  cap  ;  after  putting  on  a  clean,  checkered  apron, 
she  went  in  where  the  ladies  were. 

"  Mrs.  Spooner  and  Mrs.  Gibbs,  from  Newport," 
said  they  ;  we  are  sisters  of  the  Mrs.  May  who  died 
at  Albion  two  years  since." 

"  Ah,  then  you  are  Sallie  May's  sisters  that  I 
heard  thy  sister's' husband  speak  about  when  his  wife 
died,  but  they  both  were  in  some  kind  of  trouble 
and  could  not  be  present." 

"Yes, "said  Ann's  aunt  Spooner,  "my  husband 
died  and  I  was  left  with  two  small  children  at  that 


72  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMM-.Y, 

time  ;  any  other  time  I  might  have  come.     We  come 
to  see  our  sister's  children  that  you  have  with  you." 

"They  are  .down  in  the  field,  watching  the  men 
plant.  I  have  to  see  to  the  men  myself,  as  I  have 
the  care  of  quite  a  farm.  Take  off  your  things  and 
we  will  have  some  dinner.  Did  you  come  far  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  to  see  Sallie's  baby,  in  Cumber- 
land, and  found  her  to  be  the  sweetest  little  curly- 
haired  baby  we  ever  saw.  She  has  the  best  of  care. 
Lydia  and  Phebe  May  are  two  good  women.  I 
wish  Benjamin  was  half  as  good  to  his  children  as 
they  are  to  his  little  Sarah.  We  found  them  sewing 
straw  with  all  their  might,  and  the  little  one  play- 
ing with  dolls  Nannie  Lare  had  made  for  her. 

We  tried  to  find  out  where  the  two  oldest  boys 
were,  but  did  not  certainly ;  they  are  at  work  in 
the  factory.  They  go  to  school  some  and  work  for 
their  board  somewhere  not  far  from  Providence, 
so  Lydia  May  thinks.  She  also  thinks  her  brother 
and  Jonathan  are  in  Connecticut.  I  am  sorry  not 
to  see  him,  although  I  have  been  told  he  did  not 
treat  my  sister  well  ;  but,  when  they  were  married,  a 
more  loving  couple  I  never  saw.  I  was  younger 
and  used  to  be  in  their  family  a  good  deal  when  we 
lived  in  Cumberland,  but  since  we  moved  to  New- 
port have  not  known  just  how  they  got  along,"  said 
Mrs.  Spooner. 

By  this  time,  Ann  had  come  in  and  Deborah 
hearing  her  voice,  got  up  and  went  out. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  73 

"  Thee  comb  thy  hair  and  change  thy  dress,  and 
thee  behave  thyself,  for  if  thee  don't,  I  will  give  thee 
a  dose  of  cayenne  pepper,  worse  than  I  gave  thee 
yesterday  for  spilling  the  milk.  These  women," 
contined  Deborah,  "  are  thy  aunts  from  Newport." 

George  had  told  Ann  about  these  relatives,  yet 
she  could  not  make  it  seem  that  any  one  cared  for 
her. 

The  ladies  took  her  up  in  their  laps  and  kissed 
her,  while  tears  ran  down  their  cheeks,  and  Mrs. 
Spooner  would  say,  "  Poor  sister  Sallie's  child  ; 
how  she  loved  her  first  girl-baby,  as  she  used  to  call 
her."  Then  she  told  her  how  her  mother  used  to 
sing  to  all  her  babies, 

"  Hush,  my  dear,  lie  still  and  slumber," 

And  she  repeated  some  of  the  verses.  She  then 
told  her  she  had  been  to  see  her  sister  Sarah,  and 
was  quite  surprised  to  find  that  Ann  had  forgotton 
how  she  looked,  and  seemed  to  know  nothing  about 
her  father.  She  knew  she  had  one,  and  some  broth- 
ers, but  she  had  seen  them  but  once  and  then  only 
for  a  few  minutes. 

Deborah  did  not  leave  the  room  after  Ann  came 
in,  so  they  had  no  chance  for  talking  with  her  alone, 
or  of  asking  her  if  she  was  happy.  She  looked  well 
in  the  face,  and  they  thought  it  no  matter  if  she  was 
shabbily  dressed  so  long  as  she  was  well  and  con- 
tented. 

'•  Do  you  go  to  school  ?  "  asked  her  aunt. 

"  No,  I  don't." 


74  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

"  I  teach  her  at  home,"  interposed  Deborah.  "  I 
don't  like  to  have  her  go  so  far  ;  it  is  too  long  and 
hard  a  walk.  When  Ann  gets  old  enough,  I  shall 
send  her  to  Friends'  school  in  Providence.  I  have 
a  brown  silk  dress  that  I  had  when  I  was  a  girl, 
and  when  she  gets  her  growth  I  shall  have  it  made 
over  for  her. 

"Thee  get  thy  testament  and  read  to  thy  aunts 
the  chapter  we  read  this  morning  about  Ananias 
and  Saphira.  Thee  can  show  them  how  well 
thee  can  read,  and  get  thy  knitting  and  let  them 
see  how  industrious  thou  art." 

"My  little  Lizzie  is  about  your  age  and  she 
can't  read  like  that,  and  as  to  knitting  she  would 
rather  play  with  dolls,"  said  Mrs.  Spooner. 

"So  I  would,  but  I  haven't  got  none,"  said 
Ann,  "  only  a  piece  of  wood  George  made  a  face 
on,  and  it  hasn't  any  arms  or  feet  like  Emma 
Manning's  dolly ;  and  I  don't  like  to  knit,  but  I 
like  to  go  school  to  Isis  Steer,  but  Aunt  Deborah 
says  it  makes  me  saucy.  I  try  to  be  good  but  it 
don't  make  no  difference.  I  wish  you  were  my 
mother  come  back  from  heaven  and  would  take  me 
away  from  here." 

The  child  in  her  joy  entirely  forgot  the  presence 
of  Deborah,  and  when  she  looked  up  and  met  the 
keen,  gray  eyes,  she  jumped  out  of  her  aunt's  lap 
and  went  out  of  the  room  crying.  "  I  have  said 
something  I  ought  not  to  have  said  ;  what  will  she 
do  to  me  now,''  thought  Ann. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  75 

"  Ann  is  a  very  willful  child  ;  I  have  to  hold  a 
tight  rein,  but  I  hope  it  will  be  like  bread  cast  upon 
the  waters  ;  it  will  return  after  many  days,"  said 
Deborah. 

"  I  want  to  see  George,"  says  Mrs.  Spooner.  "  I 
have  a  boy  about  his  age." 

Dinner  was  now  ready,  and  a  nice  one,  too. 
Deborah  had  a  great  faculty  of  making  a  nice  apple 
dumpling.  She  made  the  crust  of  boiled  potatoes, 
and  these,  to-day,  would  use  up  the  last  of  her 
apples.  She  had  lovely  cream,  and  brown  bread 
baked  in  the  brick  oven,  and  doughnuts  which  she 
always  fried  in  a  kettle  which  would  hold  a  pailful, 
and  she  would  keep  the  kettle  in  motion  all  the 
time  she  was  frying  them  ;  also,  a  large  plate  of 
honey  in  the  comb,  and  grated  cheese. 

Ann  was  allowed  to  come  to  the  table  and  eat 
her  dinner.  She  often  ate  off  of  the  set  kettle. 
George  had  not  made  his  appearance  ;  he  was  at  the 
barn  doing  some  chores.  So,  after  dinner,  Debo- 
rah takes  her  company  out  and  shows  them  around. 
They  admire  the  yard,  so  clean. 

"  Yes,"  says  Deborah,  "  every  spring  I  have  a 
new  broom  made  of  white  birch,  and  I  sweep  it 
myself,  and  Ann  she  picks  up  the  sticks.  We  fin- 
ished this  yesterday.  Here  is  George,  thy  sister's 
third  boy.  These  are  thy  aunts  from  Newport, 
come  to  see  thee  and  Ann  ;  put  thy  best  foot  for- 
ward now." 


76  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

But  George  looked  down  at  his  bare,  dirty  feet, 
and  said  he  could  not  see  much  difference  ;  but  she 
meant  his  behavior.  His  aunts  told  him  about  his 
sister  in  Cumberland,  and  told  him  he  was  old 
enough  to  go  over  there  alone  ;  and  they  desired 
him  not  to  neglect  to  visit  his  mother's  grave,  so 
that  be  would  not  forget  her. 

"  Don't  you  think  I  look  as  your  mother  did  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Spooner. 

"Yes,  I  think  you  do,  only  mother  was  littler  than 
you,  and  her  eyes  wan't  so  big  and  my  mother  was 
crying  so  much.  I  don't  know  how  you  would  look 
with  tears  running  down  your  cheeks  and  trying  to 
sing  to  a  baby." 

Poor  little  fellow  !  He  did  see  big  tears  chase 
each  other  down  this  good  woman's  face,  but 
only  for  a  moment,  as  Deborah  told  him  to  go  into 
the  house  and  eat  his  dinner. 

She  asked  these  ladies  if  they  intended  to  live  in 
Newport  always.  "  It  is  likely  we  shall  at  present, 
for  I  have  myself  and  children  to  support,  and  you 
know  in  June  the  yearly  meeting  is  held  there,  and 
we  take  a  few  boarders." 

"  Ah,  does  thee  ?  I  have  been  thinking  I  would 
go  this  year,  but  don't  know  whether  it  is  best  or 
not,  but,  if  thou  will  take  me  to  board,  perhaps  I 
will  go." 

"  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Spooner,  "  if  you  will  bring 
my  little  niece  and  nephew.  Their  cousins  will  be 
so  glad  to  see  them.  Our  mother  is  sick  and  we 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY,  77 

think  it  doubtful  if  she  recovers,"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs. 
Thus  it  was  arranged  that  Deborah  should  come 
and  bring  the  children  with  her  if  nothing  happened 
to  prevent. 

"We  must  be  going  now,"  said  Mrs.  Spooner. 
"We  have  Henry  May's  horse,  and  we  promised  to 
be  back  before  this." 

George  led  the  horse  up  to  the  door.  They  kissed 
the  children  and  said,  '•  We  will  hope  to  see  you  in 
Newport  next  month."  The  children  watched  the 
wagon  until  it  reached  the  top  of  the  hill  and  re- 
ceded from  their  view. 

Deborah  had  gone  back  into  the  house  and  had 
got  all  ready  to  go  down  into  the  field.  She  says  to 
Ann,  "  None  of  thy  dreaming  •  change  thy  clothes 
and  come  with  me.  Thee  has  been  idle  Jong 
enough.  I  will  settle  with  thee  for  thy  blab  some 
other  time.  All  planting  should  be  done  by  the 
tenth  of  May,  and  here  'tis  the  twelfth.  George, 
thee  good-for-nothing,  lazy  boy,  come  along  and 
carry  this  hoe.  I  will  cover  some  of  them  myself. 
We  might  have  got  that  piece  planted  if  it  had  not 
been  for  thy  aunts'  trapsing  over  here.  Another 
time  when  I  have  company,  thee  must  be  seen  and 
not  heard ;  children  should  not  be  so  bold."  They 
had  reached  the  potato-patch  where  Charles  Dex- 
ter, a  young  man  she  had  hired  a  few  days  previous, 
was  at  work. 

Deborah  took  the  hoe  and  worked  hard  until 
night.  All  were  pretty  well  tired  out,  and  went  to 
bed  earlv. 


78  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

Ann  slept  in  the  room  with  Deborah.  Some 
pieces  of  quilts  were  thrown  upon  the  cold,  hard 
brick  hearth  for  her  to  sleep  on,  and  there  Ann  laid 
her  little  tired  body  down.  In  the  cold  nights  of 
winter  Deborah  had  her  lay  at  the  foot  of  her  bed 
so  she  could  put  her  feet  on  her  and  keep  them 
warm,  and  if  Ann  should  move,  a  sharp  punch  from 
her  .would  remind  Ann  what  she  was  there  for. 

The  next  day  was  meeting-day  at  the  old  Friends' 
Meeting-House  near  Lonsdale. 

Sometimes  she  would  let  George  and  Ann  go,  as 
George  could  drive,  but  to-day  she  thought  she 
would  punish  Ann  by  making  her  stay  at  home  and 
knit.  Ann  felt  badly  enough  when  she  saw  old  Jim 
go  out  of  the  yard  without  her,  but  she  was  used  to 
disappointments. 

After  they  were  gone  an'd  she  was  all  alone,  she 
knit  and  knit  until  it  seemed  as  if  her  stent  would 
never  get  done.  They  went  at  ten  o'clock  and 
would  be  back  about  one. 

The  night  before  she  did  net  sleep  much,  for  she 
was  so  tired  and  she  was  thinking  ahout  her  aunts, 
and  how  bad  she  should  feel  if  she  could  not  go  to 
Newport. 

She  dropped  asleep,  still  holding  her  needles  in 
her  hand,  and  did  not  wake  until  she  heard  the  hired 
man  pounding  on  the  kitchen  door.  His  dinner 
was  not  ready,  as  Deborah  usually  got  home  at  one 
o'clock,  so  they  had  to  wait  until  she  came.  Ann 
looked  at  the  clock  and  thought,  "  what  shall  I  do  > 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  79 

my  stent  not  half  done,"  and  she  began  to  knit  as 
if  her  whole  life  depended  upon  it,  but  her  arms 
and  hands  seemed  to  move  so  slowly ;  "  and  there 
is  old  Jim  now  ;  I  know  him  by  his  tread."  Still  Ann 
knit  away  not  daring  to  stop. 

Deborah  told  George  to  make  haste  and  change 
his  clothes,  and  put  Jim  in  the  barn. 

"  Well,"  says  Deborah,  "  is  this  all  thee  has  got 
done  ?  not  half  of  thy  stent  done.  I  know  thee  has 
been  idling  away  thy  time.  I  will  settle  with 
thee." 

She  took  off  her  meeting  clothes  and  set  the  din- 
ner on  for  the  boys,  Charles  and  George,  and  then 
not  heeding  what  Ann  told  her,  how  she  was  knit- 
ting and  dreamed  she  saw  her  mother  coming 
towards  her  and  just  then  she  woke  up. 

"  I  will  learn  thee  to  dream  of  thy  mother  and 
idle  thy  time  away;"  so  saying,  she  took  her  out  in 
one  of  the  out-buildings,  at  the  same  time  having  a 
bunch  of  white  birch  sticks  tied  up,  as  many  as  she 
could  hold  in  her  hand,  and  whipped  Ann  on  her 
bare  flesh  until  great  marks  were  made  and  the 
blood  flowing  from  nearly  every  cut. 

"  There,  now  see  if  thee  will  go  to  sleep  when  I 
go  to  fifth  day  meeting  " 

Angelina  Stone  had  eaten  her  dinner  and  put  on 
her  things  to  go  over  to  her  cousin  Olive  Manning's. 
She  knew  Deborah  had  punished  Ann  awfully  for 
something,  but  how  much  or  for  what  she  could  not 
tell. 


So  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"  It  \vould  serve  thee  right,"  said  Deborah,  after 
her  niece  had  gone,  "  not  to  give  thee  any  dinner, 
but  here  are  some  victuals  on  Charles'  plate  that  he 
has  left  to  be  wasted.  Thee  go  and  bring  the  swill- 
pail  in  that  stands  under  the  wash-bench." 

Ann  brought  the  pail  all  covered  with  swill,  sour 
and  filthy.  Deborah  put  the  dinner  for  Ann  in  the 
pail  and  told  her  to  carry  it  out  and  set  it  on  one 
end  of  the  sink-drain,  and  to  get  down  and  eat  it 
with  her  fingers.  She  was  so  sore,  and  lame  from 
her  whipping  she  could  not  get  down  on  her  knees 
as  she  was  told  ;  so  Deborah  told  her  to  stand  in 
the  drain  itself  and  then  she  could  just  reach  it  out 
of  ih<r.  pail. 

"  None  of  thy  sniffling  ;  thee  must  eat  it." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Ann  ;  "I  feel  sick  to  my  stom- 
ach." But  she  had  got  it  to  eat,  so  she  shut  her 
eyes,  that  she  could  not  see  the  pail,  but  in  spite  of 
all  she  was  sick  and  nearly  fainted. 

Then  Deborah  told  her  to  get  up  and  go  to  knit- 
ting ;  "  Here  is  some  salt  and  water  to  wash  thee  in 
— it  will  make  thee  tough  and  well." 

And  Ann  was  bathed  with  salt  and  water,  not- 
withstanding her  screams.  "This  will  learn  thee 
to  keep  awake  the  next  time  I  go  to  fifth  day  meet- 
ing. Thee  take  thy  testament  and  get  ten  verses  of 
the  chapter  that  begins  with  '  Children,  obey  your 
parents  in  the  Lord,  for  this  is  right ; '  and  then 
come  and  say  them  ta  me  and  I  will  tell  thee  what 
to  do  next." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  8 1 

"There  comes  Cousin  Angelina, ''said  Olive  Man- 
ning. "  When  I  saw  her  at  meeting  to-day,  she  said 
she  would  wait  until  to-night,  as  Emma  and  Susan 
Willard  were  going  over  to  see  Ann  this  afternoon, 
and  they  could  come  home  together.  The  little  girls 
would  be  afraid  to  come  after  dark." 

Rover  barked  and  wagged  his  tail  as  he  heard  the 
gate  open  and  shut.  Here  was  Susan  Willard  with 
her  red  ribbons  flying,  for  her  father  took  great  de- 
light in  seeing  his  girls  wear  bright  colors,  and 
Emma's  mother,  took  as  much  pride  seeing  her  little 
Emma  dress  plainly,  and  Job  Manning  was  always 
satisfied  with  his  wife's  judgment. 

"  Thee  might  have  rode  home  with  us,  as  our 
carriage  is  never  full  Fifth  day,"  said  Olive. 

"  Are  these  girls  going  away  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  Emma  and  Susan  want  to  go  over  and  see 
Ann.  I  see  she  did  not  go  to  meeting  to-day." 

I  am  glad  they  are  going  ;  hope  they  will  have  a 
nice  time.  Poor  little  girl,  Aunt  Deborah  whipped 
her  awfully  ;  I  expect  she  could  hardly  walk  and  I 
heard  her  scream,  but  you  know  if  Aunt  Deborah 
takes  a  notion  to  do  anything  she  will,  and  the  less 
said  the  better.  She  treats  those  children  awfully 
and  I  don't  like  to  stay  there  and  see  it;  I  will  go 
back  with  Cousin  Elihu  if  he  comes. 

When  Mrs.  Spooner  and  Mrs.  Gibbs  had  started 
for  Cumberland,  Mrs.  Gibbs  said  to  her  sister : 
"What  do  you  think  of  Deborah  Gill  ? " 


8 2  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

"She  had  a  nice  home,  it  seems  to  me,"  re- 
plied her  sister. 

"  But  don't  you  think  her  very  strict  ?  I  thought 
Ann  and  George  kept  watch  of  her  as  if  they  were 
afraid  they  would  say  something  wrong. 

Ann  let  her  tongue  run  a  little  too  fast  to  suit 
Miss  Gill,  but  not  half  long  enough  to  suit  me," 
said  Mrs.  Spooner.  "This  is  the  road  that  leads 
through  Albion,  where  Sally  lived  when  she  died, 
we  will  go  home  this  way  instead  of  going  through 
Sinkingfund  as  we  came. 

"Yes,  and  her  remains  were  carried  over  this 
.same  old  bridge.  I  will  get  out  and  lead  the  horse 
said  Mrs.  Gibbs,  "  I  can  avoid  the  holes  better,  and 
you  know  brother  David  lost  his  life  by  falling  off  a 
bridge  and  being  drowned." 

They  did  not  seem  quite  satisfied  with  the  child- 
ren's home,  yet  said:  "well,  we  can't  have  them, 
for  it  is  just  as  much  as  we  can  possibly  do  to  take 
care  of  our  own,  if  they  are  really  abused  the 
neighbors  will  see  to  it.  Poor  children  if  their 
mother  could  only  have  lived,  but  as  for  Sally  she 
is  at  rest  and  \ve  cannot  wish  her  back." 

They  went  to  Henry  May's  to  leave  his  horse, 
and  his  wife  inquired  how  they  found  Benjamin 
May's  girl  and  boy. 

"We  found  them  well,  but  whether  they  are  well 
treated  or  not  we  can't  tell.  Deborah  treated  us 
with  all  kindness  and  I  think  they  must  live  well, 
as  she  lives  on  a  farm  and  has  all  kinds  of  fruit, 


-       OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY,  83 

hens  without  number,  beautiful  cows,  and  all  the 
cream  they  want."  (They  did  not  know  that  the 
children  had  never  eaten  an  egg,  or  cream,  as  the 
milk  was  usually  twenty-four  hours  old  when  it  was 
set  on  the  table  for  her  help  or  given  to  the 
children.) 

"  Benjamin's  two  oldest  boys  were  here  to  din- 
ner," said  Mrs.  May,  "  I  told  them  you  would 
like  to  see  them,  and  I  think  they  went  over  to 
the  grave  yard  to  see  their  mother's  grave  " 

"Did  they?  We  will  go  there,  too,  as  we  have 
never  seen  it  yet  you  know." 

A  few  moments,  and  the  ladies  entered  the 
yard ;  here  as  they  expected  were  the  two  boys 
James  and  Will.  James  with  his  straight  brown 
hair  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  Will  with  his  light  curly 
hair  blowing  gently  with  the  breezes  of  this  pleas- 
ant, yet  not  very  warm  May  day. 

"  Do  you  remember  me  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs. 
"I  do,"  replied  James,  "  because  you  came  to  see 
us  when  we  lived  in  that  cottage  over  yonder  in 
that  lot." 

We  went  to  Aunt  Susan's  the  other  day,"  said 
Will,  "  and  she  cried  when  we  told  her  where  we 
all  were."  She  said  :  "  If  your  mother  had  lived 
boys,  you  would  not  be  scattered  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven  as  you  now  are.'' 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mrs.  Spooner,  as  she  wept 
over  her  sister's  grave  ;  "  yet  we  will  not  wish  her 
back.  Sometimes  I  have  wished  myself  beside 


84  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

her,"  said  Mrs.  Gibbs  whose  life  had  not  been  all 
sunshine ;  "  but  we  must  go  and  bid  Lydia  and 
Phebe  May  good-by." 

"  We  must  get  back  to  Providence  to-night ;  your 
grandmother  is  sick,  and  we  ought  not  to  be  here 
now.  So  adieu,  our  dear  departed  sister." 

They  turned  and  gazed  lovingly  at  the  long  nar- 
row mound  of  earth. 

They  reached  the  house  of  Lydia  May  and  sat 
down  to  talk  about  their  many  troubles,  and  to  see 
the  three  children  together,  if  only  Ann  and  George 
and  Jonathan  were  here.  But  they  did  not  know 
exactly  where  he  and  his  father  were  just  now. 
James  and  Will  had  been  at  work  in  Centerdale 
in  the  mill  part  of  the  time,  and  attending  school 
the  other  half;  to-day  the  mill  was  stopped  for  back 
water. 

They  were  dressed  quite  comfortably  but  looked 
tired,  as  they  had  walked  eight  miles.  Their  aunts 
took  the  stage  for  Providence  the  next  day.  As 
Nannie  Lare  told  them  that  the  stage  went  only 
mornings,  they  all  went  in  together.  Their  aunts 
told  them  to  be  sure  and  go  to  Deborah  Gills 
and  see  their  brother  and  sister,  as  she  certainly 
would  forget  them  and  how  they  looked. 

The  young  fellows  went  back  to  work  feeling 
quite  happy,  and  thinking  the  next  place  they 
went  to  would  be  Deborah  Gills. 

After  Ann's  severe  punishment,  she  felt  as  if  she 
never  could  bear  another  whipping  like  the  one 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  85 

she  had  just  received,  and  then  to  get  down  in 
the  sink  drain  and  stand  to  eat  her  dinner  out  of 
the  dirty  swill-pail,  was  more  than  she  knew  how 
to  bear.  To  study  the  Bible  was  hard  work  with 
these  thoughts  and  herself  smarting  from  the  salt 
and  water  Deborah  obliged  her  to  bathe  in. 

Emma  and  Susan  Willard  had  been  there  some- 
time before  Deborah  would  let  Ann  come  out  and 
see  them  ;  she  repeated  only  four  verses  correctly, 
and  Deborah  told  her  she  might  go  out  to  the 
leech  stone  and  play  with  the  girls  half  an  hour, 
and  then  she  must  knit  ten  times  round  on  the 
stocking  she  was  making  ;  so  out  they  went. 
There  were  a  few  little  shelves  formed  of  the  not 
over  close  underpinning,  and  the  great  hole  under 
the  stone  was  their  oven  ;  here  all  the  pieces  of 
broken  dishes  and  small  clam  shells  and  pretty 
smooth  stones,  were  made  to  do  service  for  house- 
keeping. But  not  once  a  month  was  Ann  allowed 
to  play  with  them,  unless  children  came  that 
Deborah  wished  to  amuse. 

Ann  knew  better  than  to  tell  the  girls  of  her 
whipping,  as  Deborah  had  a  sure  way  of  finding 
out  everything ;  and  not  to  tell  her  the  truth  and 
expect  not  to  be  found  out,  was  a  thing  never 
heard  of. 

The  half  hour  was  soon  out,  and  the  girls  went 
home  before  dark.  Ann  went  as  far  as  the  bars 
with  them,  then  came  back  and  went  to  knitting; 
but  her  lesson  was  not  yet  learned  ;  and  how  she 


86  THREE    HOLES    IX    THE    CHIMNEY, 

disliked  to  get  so  many  verses  for  a  punishment. 
Deborah  had  such  a  long  string  for  everything 
done  that  Ann  would  forget  what  it  was  for,  but 
knew  she  must  go  through  all  ;  and,  as  usual,  a 
lot  to  do  the  next  day  of  things  allotted  her  the 
previous  day,  which  had  to  be  done  before  she  had 
anything  to  eat. 

Deborah  began  to  make  arrangements  forgoing  to 
Newport ;  George  and  Ann  did  not  know  whether 
they  were  going  or  not,  and  so  they  kept  quiet. 

It  now  came  time  to  start  for  the  yearly  meeting  ; 
every  family  that  could  go,  did  ;  and  not  to  go 
was  a  great  disappointment. 

Deborah  concluded  she  would  go  and  take  Ann 
only,  as  it  was  really  not  convenient  to  take  both. 

George  did  not  feel  badly  at  all,  as  he  thought 
he  would  have  a  good  time  if  Deborah  was  away. 
For  Elizabeth  Rathburn  was  very  pleasant,  and 
Lyclia  Haynes  let  him  do  just  as  he  pleased. 

He  was  the  only  man  on  the  place  now,  and  if 
Horatio  Dudley  should  come,  if  he  was  clever, 
they  would  have  a  nice  time. 

So  after  a  little  fixing  of  Ann's  best  calico  dress 
and  starching  her  white  sun-bonnet  ;  also  much 
starching  and  ironing  of  Deborah's  caps  and  ker- 
chiefs and  a  great  many  charges  about  affairs, 
George  drove  old  Jim  into  Providence,  and  left 
them  at  the  wharf  to  take  the  boat  for  Newport. 
He  was  to  stop  at  Barton  Ballou's  and  get  Eliza- 
beth and  take  her  home  with  him,  as  Deborah  was 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  87 

not  afraid  to  trust  the  house  in  her  care  ;  she  could 
not  do  heavy  work  as  she  was  not  strong,  so  Lydia 
Haynes  who  was  visiting  could  help  her. 

Horatio  was  coming,  but  George  must  not  play 
with  him,  but  must  show  hirrf  every  attention  as 
he  \\as  a  boarder. 

When  Deborah  and  Ann  reached  Newport,  Mrs. 
Spooner  and  her  children  were  at  the  wharf  to 
meet  them.  Lizzie  thought  her  cousin  had  on 
her  every  day  clothes,  and  when  she  arrived  home 
she  expected  to  see  her  dress  up ;  her  cousin 
Lizzie  asked  her  if  she  wan't  going  to  change  her 
dress.  She  said  :  "  No,  I  will  be  very  careful  of 
this,  as  I  brought  a  long  apron  to  put  on  ;  but  to- 
morrow I  will  put  on  my  yellow  and  blue  checked 
dress,  and  I  shan't  care  so  much  if  I  do  get  that 
dirty.''  Lizzie  was  too  kind  to  make  fun  of  Ann's 
clothes,  for  she  was  used  to  seeing  people  dressed 
plain  like  Deborah,  and  as  Ann  was  her  cousin 
she  thought  she  would  dress  like  other  little  girls. 

Ann  ate  her  supper  and  was  put  to  bed  right 
off,  as  Deborah  said  she  did  not  allow  her  to  sit 
up  after  dark  in  summer  and  she  never  allowed 
her  a  light  in  winter,  but  always  went  to  bed  in 
the  dark. 

Ann  one  day  took  hold  of  a  string  of  beads 
that  Lizzie  had  on  and  broke  the  string;  she  felt 
very  bad  about  it,  but  they  all  told  her  it  was  no 
matter  for  they  would  have  the  fun  of  stringing 
them  ;  but  at  night  Ann  was  sent  to  bed  without 


88  THREE   HOLES   IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

her  supper,  but  Lizzie  carried  her  up  a  tumbler  of 
milk.  She  drank  it  quickly  and  told  Lizzie  not 
to  tell  Aunt  Deborah,  for  she  would  pinch  her 
arms  and  shake  her  if  she  knew  it. 

"  Why,  Ann  !    does  she  do  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  And  when  we  get  home  she  will  settle  it  all 
together." 

"Settle  what?" 

"All  the  naughty  things  I  have  done  since  I 
have  been  here." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  had  been  naughty.  My 
mother  was  saying  to  me,  '  What  a  good  little  girl 
Ann  is  ;  but  she  is  awfully  afraid  of  the  old  lady.' " 

"  Where  is  aunt  Deborah  ?  " 

"  She  has  gone  out  with  mother ;  grandmother 
is  worse,  and  they  have  gone  to  see  her." 

"Well,  then  she  won't  hear  me,  and  you  promise 
you  won't  tell  ?  " 

Lizzie  promised. 

"You  know  I  didn't  get  my  stent  done  yesterday, 
on  that  stocking,  and  I  didn't  spell  Methuselah 
right,  and  I  broke  a  saucer  and  that  string  of  beads. 
And  last  night  I  hit  her  an  awful  kick,  I  expect. 
At  home,  I  sleep  on  the  brick  hearth  in  summer, 
and  in  winter  I  sleep  at  the  foot  of  her  bed.  I  don't 
sleep  this  way,  side  of  her.  1  was  tired  and  I  guess 
I  hit  her  hard,  for  she  woke  up  and  took  hold  of 
my  sore  arm  and  pinched  it  until  I  screamed,  and 
she  said, '  Hold  thy  tongue  ;  thee  will  wake  up  every 
one  in  the  house.'  So  I  held  in  until  morning, 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  89 

and  then  she  said  she  would  settle  with  me  when  we 
got  home. 

"  What  does  she  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  these  marks  on  my  flesh  ?  I  don't 
know  but  they  have  got  well,  now,  for  she  put  salt  and 
water  on  to  heal  them  up,  but  there  was  lots  of 
'em." 

"She  takes  a  bunch  of  sticks;  she  told  brother 
George  to  get  them,  and  she  tied  them  together  and 
when  she  settles  she  whips  me  with  them  sticks. 
She  says,  Solomon  says  '  Spare  the  rod  and  spoil 
the  child/  and  I  am  the  child.  I  don't  feel  half  so 
bad  to  have  her  whip  me  as  I  know  just  how  bad  it 
hurts  :  but  she  takes  brother  George,  makes  him 
take  off  his  jacket  and  takes  a  short,  big  whip  they 
use  to  drive  old  Jim  with  in  the  farm  wagon,  and 
she  whips  him  until  he  says  he  did  it." 

"Did  what?" 

"  O,  anything  she  wants  to.  She  will  tell  him  he 
did  something  wrong  and  he  will  say  he  did  not, 
and  he  tells  the  truth  ;  and  she  will  whip  him  till 
he  can't  bear  it  any  longer,  and  then  he  will  say  he 
did  it.  Afterwards  she  will  find  out  he  told  the 
truth  first,  and  then  she  will  whip  him  for  lying. 
She  does  just  so  to  me  ;  sometimes  I  will  tell  her 
right  off  I  did  it  so  she  won't  punish  me,  and 
when  she  finds  out  I  didn't  she  will  punish  Yne  just 
thr  same." 

"But,  Ann  what  is  that  you  do,  or  don't  do?  " 

"  Something   will    be     lost    or   broken,  or   some 


90  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEV, 

victuals  gone  off  a  ptate,  a  pear  or  an  apple  gone, 
and  once  I  saw  her  put  a  work-bag  under  the 
oven  in  the  sitting-room,  that  she  said  I  had  lost. 

She  kept  me  looking  half  a  day,  everywhere  ; 
I  didn't  dare  to  tell  her  I  saw  her  put  it  in  there, 
but  at  last  I  went  and  took  it  out,  and  she  said, 
"  there,  thee  hid  that  so  thee  wouldn't  have  to 
knit!  "  for  my  work  was  in  it  ;  so  she  ducked  me 
in  a  pail  of  water,  and  then  she  heard  some  one 
coming  so  she  took  me  clown  cellar,  turned  a  big 
wash-tub  over  and  made  me  stay  under  that,  until 
Aunt  Ruth  Manning  had  gone  away.  I  had  to 
stay  there  a  long  time,  as  she  brought  her  knitting- 
work.  She  walked  over  across  by  the  Old 
Lapham  House.  Isaac  Lapham  lives  there  and 
she  stopped  to  rest.'' 

"But,  Ann,  I   must   tell   my  mother." 

"Oh,  Lizzie  don't!  You  know  how  Ananias 
and  Saphira  was  struck  down  dead,  because  they 
said  that  they  had  not  got  that  money,  when  they 
had;  now  promise  me  you  won't." 

"  Yes,  cousin,  I  will  promise  I  won't  tell ;  but 
if  my  mother  should  know  it,  she  would  get  you 
away  from  that  old  woman.  I  won't  stay  in  the 
room  with  her.  I  hope  she  will  never  come  here 
again,  and  the  first  time  you  have  a  chance  you 
run  away." 

"  I  am  going  to  some  time,  just  like  the  slaves 
do,  you  know.  Aunt  Deborah  has  lots  of  papers 
telling  all  about  the  masters  whipping  slaves,  and 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  9 1 

putting  salt  and  water  on,  just  as  she  does  to  me  ; 
and  how  they  will  run  away.  When  I  get  old 
enough  I  am  just  going  to  try  it.  They  have  dogs 
run  after  them,  but  Aunt  Deborah  hain't  got  no 
dogs. 

There  they  come,  run    to  bed." 

"  Xo,  I'm  going  clown  stairs  to  hear  how 
grandma  is,  dear,  good  grandma. 

Mother  says  she  will  go  to  heaven  where 
Grandpa  is  ;  and  my  papa  went  there  only  a 
little  while  ago." 

"And  my  mother  has  been  there  a  long  time; 
she's  going  to  stay  there  so  I  shall  find  her  when 
I  go  there;* she  said  she  would  know  us  children. 
So  she  is  waiting  for  us,"  said  Ann. 

"  Good   night,  Lizzie." 

"Good  night,  Ann,"  returned  Lizzie  as  she 
kissed  her  cousin.  "  Now  make  believe  sleep." 
And  Lizzie  went  down  stairs  with  a  heavy  heart, 
and  found  her  mother  talking  about  her  grand- 
mother. 

"  She  cannot  stay  with  us  long,"  says  Mrs. 
Spooner,  "  she  has  all  the  comforts  we  can  give 
her.  If  our  mother  had  only  got  her  pension 
money  she  would  have  been  well  provided  for  j 
we  have  hoped  our  cousins  might  succeed  in  their 
attempts  to  get  it." 

"  Pension  for  what  ?  "  said  Deborah. 

"  My  father  went  as  a  ship  carpenter  in  the  war 
of  1812,  we  were  then  living  in  Erie.  X.  Y.,  and," 


<)2  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

turning  to  a  picture  hanging  on  the  wall,  "that 
picture  is  intended  to  represent  the  horse  that 
my  father  brought  home  with  him  ;  he  was  white 
and  was  owned  by  Tecumseh,  the  Indian  chief. 
They  named  the  horse  Tecumseh,  and  when  they 
passed  through  Pawtucket  in  this  state,  they  made 
a  great  parade  about  it." 

"  Thy  father's  given  name  was  George,  was  it 
not  ?  " 

"Yes,  .George  Southwick. 

It  was  the  roth  of  September,  1813,  that  Perry, 
left  his  own  vessel,  the  '  Lawrence.'  He  and 
his  men  took  a  boat  and  went  on  board  one  of 
his  own  vessels,  the  '  Niagara,'  Capt.  Elliott. 
His  own  ship  was  disabled,  and  the  '  Niagara ' 
was  one  of  the  fleet  of  which  he  was  commodore." 

Mrs.  Spooner  took  a  book  from  the  table,  and 
turning  to  a  page  that  looked  more  worn  than  the 
rest,  said :  "  here  is  a  picture  of  the  boat  ;  the 
man  in  the  centre  of  the  group  represents  my 
father. 

We  feel  proud  that  he  was  with  that  good  man. 
His  brothers,  Pitts  and  Joseph  Southwick  are 
living  here  now,  and  have  families.  They  are 
ship-builders." 

"  I  do  not  approve  of  war  and  1  hope  thy 
father  did  not  fight.  Friend  Perry  was  a  nice 
man  before  he  went  to  fighting,  I  have  been  in- 
formed," said  Deborah. 

"  As  you    have    only  one    more  day  to   stay,  to- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  93 

morrow  after  meeting  you  had  better  take  Ann 
down  to  see  her  grandmother,  as  probably  she 
will  remember  her.  And  we  will  call  on  our 
bachelor  cousin,  William  Turner,"  said  Mrs. 
Spooner. 

The  next  day  was  a  busy  one  at  the  meeting- 
house. The  great  old  house  was  full  and  between 
the  meetings,  groups  of  women  and  children 
could  be  seen  talking  and  planning  for  this  one 
and  that  one  to  go  home  with  some  friend,  to  visit 
through  the  summer  months,  and  many  arrange- 
ments preparatory  to  separating,  not  to  meet  all 
together  again  until  next  year  ;  and  then  perhaps 
not  at  Newport. 

"  Dost  thou  take  boarders  this  season  Debo- 
rah ?  "  inquired  an  elderly  lady  of  her. 

"  I  have  only  a  boy,  Jane  Dudley's  son  ;  thee  is 
acquainted  with  them,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  am  glad  thee  has  him,  as  his 
mother  has  quite  a  family.  I  have  a  young 
student  at  my  house  who  desires  to  board  in  the 
country.  He  is  of  German  descent  and  has  been 
studying,  but  if  I  am  not  mistaken  he  has  con- 
sumption ;  he  needs  good  care  ;  he  has  money 
sent  him  from  New  Orleans.  What  dost  thou 
think  ?  " 

"  I  will  take  him.     What  is  his  name  ?  " 

"John  Stuebin." 

"  Very  well.     George    and    Elizabeth    Rathburn, 


94  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

thee  knows  her,  will  meet  me  in  Providence  to- 
morrow." 

"  We  will  call  at  thy  house  and  take  him ;  and 
his  baggage  Friend  Tourtellotte  will  put  on  the 
stage,  as  thou  knows  he  drives  past  our  house." 

So  it  was  arranged  that  Deborah  should  take 
the  sick  man  in  her  family.  After  the  meetings 
had  closed,  Deborah  went  to  see  the  sick  old 
lady. 

Ann  went  up  to  the  bed-side,  kissed  her  grand- 
mother and  bade  her  good-bye. 

The  next  day  Deborah  and  Ann  bade  farewell 
to  Newport. 

Just  as  Ann  was  about  to  leave,  Lizzie  whispered 
in  her  ear,  "  Cousin  Ann,  may  I  tell  my  mother  ?  " 

Ann  said,  "  yes,  after  we  are  gone." 

"Here  is  a  little  red  tin  kettle  which  I  want  to 
give  you  to  remember  me  by,"  said  Lizzie. 

Soon  the  boat  started  and  in  due  season  they 
arrived  at  Providence. 

Their  carriage  had  been  waiting  for  over  an 
hour,  for  Elizabeth  thought  they  better  be  a  little 
early  than  late.  Deborah  told  her  friend  about 
her  taking  the  sick  man  to  board.  "And  if  thee 
will  help  take  care  of  him  I  will  repay  thee." 

"  I  will  and  he  had  better  have  my  room  ;  I  will 
sleep  in  the  parlor  chamber  bed-room,  as  going  up 
and  clown  the  back  stairs  will  lie  much  more  con- 
venient. Don't  tb.ee  think  so  Deborah?  " 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  95 

It  was  finally  settled  that  John  Stuebin  should 
occupy  the  sitting-room  chamber.  George  and 
Horatio  slept  in  the  little  room  over  the  pantry, 
so  if  he  should  want  anything  in  the  night,  he 
could  speak  to  George. 

George  and  Ann  were  talking  busy  all  the  time, 
until  they  reached  the  house  \vhere  the  young  man 
boarded.  Deborah  went  in  and  in  less  than 
half  an  hour,  came  out  with  her  new  acquaint- 
ance. 

"  See  how  white  he  is,"  said  George  to  Ann  ; 
"  he  has  a  cough,  hear  him." 

"  Aunt  Deborah  says  he  has  the  consumption, 
and  she  is  going  to  cure  him  up." 

"'  I  wonder  if  he   is  cross,"  said  George. 

"  Hush  !  he  will  hear  you." 

He  was  helped  into  the  carriage  and  preferred 
sitting  on  the  front  seat  with  George.  The  air 
was  so  balmy  he  said.  Elizabeth,  Deborah  and 
Ann  sat  on  the  back  seat,  as  Ann  could  stand 
part  of  the  way. 

Inquiries  were  made  by  Deborah  concerning 
affairs  at  home.  Some  of  the  chickens  had  died  ; 
they  didn't  know  \\hat  killed  them  :  but  they 
looked  mashed  up.  George  said  Horatio  had 
been  down  in  the  lot  and  caught  the  little  turkeys* 
and  had  ground  their  toe-nails  off;  he  had  thrown 
stones-at  the  bee-hives  and  knocked  one  over  ;  he 
threw  a  stone  at  one  of  the  peacocks,  and  it  had 
gone  lame  ever  since  ;  he  had  caught  one  of  the 


96  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

geese  and  tried  to  pull  the  feathers  off,  the  same  as 
you  do  ;  but  you  know  you  picked  them  just  before 
you  went  away.  He  couldn't  hold  the  old  goose 
any  longer  for  the  old  gander  pitched  into  him 
head  first. 

"  Why  didn't  thee  stop  all  this  cutting  up 
George  ?  thee  knows  better  than  to  let  him  act  so.' 

"I  didn't  want  to  say  anything;  you  said  he 
must  do  as  he  wanted  to,  because  he  was  a 
boarder  and  a  relation  to  you,  and  I  must  give 
him  every  attention.  So  I  did  tend  to  him  and 
did  everything  he  told  me  to." 

"  I  suppose  thee  turned  the  grind-stone  while 
he  ground  the  turkey's  toes  off,  didn't  thee?" 

"  Yes,  he  told  me  to  ;  he  said  they  would  look 
better  and  that  he  lived  in  a  city  place  and  all  the 
turkeys  he  saw  running  about,  had  their  eye  teeth 
cut  and  nails  ground  off  like  that." 

"  Where  was  Lydia  all  this  time?  " 

"She  was  over  to  Olive's  and  neighbor  Clarke's 
most  of  the  time. 

She  said  if  Horatio  did  mischief  she  didn't 
wan't  to  see  it,  as  you  might  blame  her;  and  then 
she  said  she  would  rather  be  in  Joppa  or  Jericho, 
I  forget  which." 

Elizabeth  said  :  "  I  was  busy  in  the  house,  thee 
knows  I  had  nearly  all  to  do  myself;  Lydia 
seemed  to  think  of  some  errand  most  every  day  ; 
and  sister  Deborah  and  Barton  came  and  spent  the 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  97 

day.  Florintina  has  been  sick  and  the  other  childr 
ren  have  been  complaining,  so  this  was  the  first  time 
she  had  been  out.  Barton's  brother  Olney  is  quite 
sick  and  if  thee  would  like  to  ride  over  and  see 
Eunice  Farnum,  next  first  day  after  meeting,  we  can 
go  to  the  North  Smithfield  meeting,  as  Anne  Jenkins 
is  expected  there,  so  Anne  Dennison  told  me." 

They  had  now  reached  the  post  office  at  Lime 
Rock  and  George  hopped  out  to  get  the  mail.  "We 
are  out  of  tea,"  whispered  Elizabeth  to  Deborah. 

As  she  spoke,  Captain  John  rode  up  and  went  in. 

"  George  has  the  letters  and  papers,  but  I  prefer 
to  get  my  own  tea ;  "  so  Deborah  got  out  of  the  car- 
riage and  went  into  the  store  where  were  kept 
groceries  and  other  articles  kept  in  a  country  store. 
They  took  eggs  and  butter  irom  the  farmers  and  let 
them  have  groceries  in  return.  While  Deborah  was 
in  the  store,  Elizabeth  endeavored  to  get  acquainted 
with  John  Stuebin.  He  had  been  talking  with 
George,  who  had  been  telling  him  all  about  the 
places  and  everything  he  could  think  of,  until  Deb- 
orah more  than  once  spoke  to  him,  telling  him — 
"  boys  should  be  seen  and  not  heard ; "  but  he 
seemed  to  think,  "no  knowing  when  I  shall  get  an- 
other chance,  so  I  will  talk  with  the  sick  man  if  he 
wants  me  too." 

When  they  got  to  Scott's  Pond,  George  said,  "here 
is  where  a  woman  drove  in  with  her  horse  and 
wagon.  She  had  four  children  ;  she  tied  them  all  in 
and  drove  off  there,  somewhere.  They  were  all 


98  THREE   HOLES    IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

drowned.  My  father  was  coming  home  from  his 
work  when  he  met  her  and  bowed  ;  she  bowed  back. 
A  few  hours  after  he  was  called  with  some  other 
men  to  hunt  her  up.  They  found  her  here ;  they 
-could  have  saved  her,  but  she  wouldn't  let  'em,  so 
they  were  all  drowned.  They  didn't  find  the  baby 
until  the  next  day  ;  they  let  the  water  off  and  father 
saw  a  little  arm  sticking  up.  The  baby  was  tied  in 
a  low  baby-chair.  I  saw  the  great  wide  gravestone 
.close  to  my  mother's  grave,  just  a  few  yards  from  it." 
"  Where  was  your  mother  buried  ?  " 
•"Over  in  Cumberland,  near  Sinkingfund." 
They  had  now  reached  the  Friends'  meeting- 
house, and  George  said,  "  there  is  where  we  come  to 
meeting  ;  when  we  went  by  here  to-day  ,  old  Jim 
turned  up  to  the  gate  himself. 

"  This  old  house  on  the  right,  with  stone  end,  is 

over  one  hundred  and   fifty  years  old.     It  was  used 

as  a  fort  when  the  Indians  plagued  the  white  folks.'' 

"I  don't  suppose   you   remember  that,  do  you?  " 

"Guess    not,  but    I've   heard    'em   tell   about   it. 

That  big  stone  house  on  the  right,  with    vines  all 

over  it,  is  where   the  Smith's  live.     Their  brother 

lives  in  that  old-fashioned  house  down  there.     He 

speaks  in  meeting,  and  his  name  is  Joseph.     That 

hill  at   the    left  is   Break   Neck   hill.     Do  you  see 

that  butterfly  on  that  stone  mill  ?  " 

"No;  I  don't." 

"  Do  you  see  those  stones,  shaped  like  a  butter- 
fly's wings  ?  " 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  99 

"  Ah  !  yes,  that  is  funny." 

"  Well,  they  call  it  Butterfly  Factory.  The  print 
works  are  right  down  there,  at  the  left." 

"  What  do  they  make  there  ?  " 

"They  put  the  flowers  on  to  calico." 

"Oh!    that's  it  is  it?" 

"This  is  Molasses  Hill." 

"  Why  is  it  called  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  'em  tell,  a  hogshead  of  molasses 
fell  off  a  team  and  busted,  and  it  all  spilled  out ;  so 
they  lost  all  their  'lasses." 

"  I  see  you  have  a  name  for  everything." 

"  That  long  house,  there  on  the  left,  is  the  Tav- 
ern." 

"  Is  it  a  temperance  hotel  ?  " 

"  Yes,  guess  'tis.  I've  heard  'em  tell  that  'tis  an 
awful  rum-hole.  Here  is  the  post-office." 

"  Don't  thee  feel  tired,  friend  ?  "  asked  Eliza- 
beth. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  I  have  had  a  pleasant  ride,  thanks  to 
this  young  man.  I  see  a  good  many  white  stones 
lying  around  here  and  in  the  yards." 

"  Yes,  there  is  a  limestone  quarry  down  here  at 
the  left,  and  a  number  of  lime-kilns  down  there  in 
the  hollow." 

Deborah  now  came  out  and  so  did  Captain  John. 
He  came  and  opened  the  carriage  door  for  Deborah 
while  she  got  in. 

Deborah  said,  "  this  is  Friend  John  Stuebin; 
neighbor  John,  and  here  is  my  friend  Elizabeth  Rath- 


100  'IHREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

burn."  He  made  a  few  remarks  about  the  weather 
and  told  Deborah  he  talked  of  buying  a  heifer  this 
coming  fall,  and  if  she  didn't  sell  hers  he  would 
come  over  and  look  at  her  later  in  the  season. 

"  They  talk  of  making  a  new  road  from  Barnes', 
to  come  out  pretty  near  the  tavern,  and  then  we  will 
not  have  to  come  around  by  this  meeting-house. 
That  long  house  out  there  at  the  left  is  where  neigh- 
bor John  lives.  He  buried  his  wife  quite  a  while 
ago,  so  his  daughter  keeps  house  for  him.  Here  is 
where  Ben  Harris  lives ;  he  is  a  cooper  and  makes 
lime  casks  for  the  Lime  Rock  Company.  This  es- 
tate here  on  the  left,"  said  Deborah,  "belongs  to 
John  C.  Brown,  of  Providence." 

"  What,  one  of  the  University  Browns  ?  "  asked 
John  Stuebin. 

"  He  is  a  relative ;  he  belongs  to  the  same  family. 
They  have  just  set  out  this  hedge  on  the  bank 
wall." 

"  It  will  take  years  for  it  to  grow  to  screen  the 
house,  as  evidently  that  is  its  purpose."  said  John 
Stuebin. 

"  On  the  right,  down  in  that  valley,  is  the  village 
of  Albion." 

"  A  river  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  the  Blackstone  ;  and  a  canal,  also,  so  they 
can  carry  all  their  cotton  and  goods  on  the  canal  be- 
tween Providence  and  Worcester.  They  used  to 
cart  it  on  teams,  altogether,  drawn  by  horses  and 
oxen,  but  this  is  an  age  of  progress.  This  house  on 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  .       IOI 

the  right  is  neighbor  Clark's.  He  is  our  represen- 
tative." 

As  they  passed  the  burying-ground,  Deborah 
said,  "  here  lies  my  father  ;  he  lived  to  be  ninety- 
two  years  old  ;  also,  neighbor  Clark's  family.  We 
neighbors  have  this  together.  This  road  at  the  right 
leads  to  Albion." 

"  Here  we  are,  to  home,"  said  George. 

Horatio  opened  the  gate,  and  shut  it  after  them. 
They  got  out  as  quickly  as  possible,  as  they  were 
tired,  and  assisted  the  invalid  into  the  sitting-room 
and  to  an  easy-chair.  He  said  he  was  not  sick — 
only  weak  ;  and  if  that  cough  would  stop  he  would 
be  all  right.  He  said  that  he  had  been  complain- 
ing nearly  a  year,  but  thought  the  country  air  and 
rest  from  study  would  effect  a  permanent  cure. 


THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER   V. 


As  Lydia  May  lived  on  the  old  homestead,  it  was 
the  stopping-place  of  the  whole  family  whenever 
they  came  to  Cumberland.  She  wanted  to  know 
how  her  brother  Benjamin  was  getting  along,  and 
little  Jonathan.  Nannie  Lare  felt  yery  anxious 
about  the  little  fellow  ;  his  middle  name  was  Car- 
roll. She  added  that  name  to  the  one  already  given 
him  by  his  father. 

Her  uncle  Ben  said  he  wanted  him  named  for  his 
own  father,  for  one  name,  and  he  didn't  care  what 
they  did  call  his  other  name  ;  that  wasn't  of  much 
account.  But,  as  Carroll  was  a  name  he  never  heard 
of  before,  he  wondered  where  she  picked  that  up. 

Nannie  told  him  that  her  brother,  Robert  Galen, 
had  just  married  a  lady  whose  last  name  was  Car- 
roll. Besides,  she  thought  Jonathan  C.  May  was 
such  a  pretty  name. 

It  is  said,  "  Coming  events  cast  their  shadows 
before,"  and  now,  while  Lydia  and  Nannie  were 
talking  about  them  and  about  going  over  to  see 
Phebe  Jencks,  and  were  getting  Sarah  ready  to  go 
too — for  it  was  not  far  off— Nannie  thought  she  heard 
a  carriage.  Looking  up,  she  saw  her  uncle  Ben  and 
a  boy  with  him.  She  soon  discovered  it  was  her 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  103 

little  favorite,  by  his  hair  ;  and  when  he  came  and 
shook  hands  with  her,  she  said,  "Why,  Jonathan  C., 
where  have  you  been  this  long  time  ?  We  thought 
you  were  lost." 

After  Mr.  May  had  led  his  horse  in  the  yard  and 
hitched  it,  he  came  in  and  the  little  Sarah  began  to 
cry.  She  was  really  afraid  of  her  father.  He  had 
some  candy  with  him,  so  he  coaxed  her  to  come  to 
him.  Lydia  was  glad  to  see  her  brother.  As  is 
usually  the  case,  if  there  is  one  of  a  family  of  child- 
ren who  does  wrong,  and  all  the  rest  are  fairly  good, 
the  black  sheep  gets  far  more  attention  by  some  of 
the  family  than  those  who  take  care  of  themselves 
and  behave  as  they  ought,  while  others  will  discard 
them  altogether. 

These  sisters  always  pitied  their  unfortunate 
brother  and  seemed  anxious  to  do  all  they  could  for 
him  and  his  unfortunate  children,  while  his  brothers 
didn't  seem  to  care  much  what  did  become  of  him. 
"  He  might  do  better  and  let  rum  alone  ;  "  so  they 
did  not  trouble  themselves  about  him. 

"  Have  you  seen  Ann  and  George?  "   said   Lydia- 

"I  called  there  but  Ann  had  gone  to  yearly  meet- 
ing with  Deborah,  and  George  had  gone  to  meeting 
with  Elizabeth  Rathburn,  a  friend  of  Deborah  Gill. 
A  woman  was  there  who  said  her  name  was  Lydia 
Haynes,  a  niece  of  hers  I  think  she  said.  I  told 
her  I  was  the  children's  father,  and  she  said  if  I  was 
I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  own  it,  and  let  my  child- 
ren stay  there  \vith  aunt  Deborah.  She  took  snuff 


104  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

and  passed  the  box  to  me.  I  told  her  I  only  took 
Bayberry  snuff  for  catarrh." 

" '  How  long  since  thee  has  seen  thy  children  ' 
questioned  this  woman.  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  her, 
after  she  had  said  what  she  did,  for  I  knew  I 
had  not  cared  for  the  children  as  I  had  ought  to. 
Well,  it  has  been  three  years  since  I  have  seen 
them." 

"'Thy  name  is  May,  isn't  it?"  said  Lydia 
Haynes.  I  told  her  yes  ;  Benjamin  May.  '  Well, 
thy  children  are  punished  almost  every  day  and  they 
don't  deserve  it;  they  don't  dare  to  cut  up.  In 
fact,  she  don't  give  'em  a  chance.' " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  she  was  mad  with  Deborah, 
or  whether  she  told  the  truth.  She  said  she 
helped  Deborah  about  her  work.  I  inquired  when 
George  would  be  at  home,  and  she  said  not  until 
night,  as  after  meeting  they  were  going  to  Central 
Falls,  to  get  her  cousin  Jane's  boy,  Horatio' Dudley  ; 
he  isn't  very  well,  and  Deborah  is  going  to  board 
him  awhile.  Now  Lydia,  what  shall  I  do?  I  have 
no  money  ;  it  has  taken  all  I  could  earn  to  take 
care  of  Jonathan.  We  live  in  Thompson,  Conn. 
I  would  not  have  come  now,  but  he  wanted  to  see 
the  children  so  bad." 

Jonathan  felt  very  much  disappointed  at  not  see- 
ing his  brother  and  sister  ;  but  his  good  Aunt  Lydia 
told  him  he  might  stay  and  make  her  a  visit,  and  she 
would  send  for  them  to  come  and  see  him  and  little 
Sarah.  He  looked  as  if  he  had  not  had  the  best  of 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  105 

care  ;  and  judging  from  the  past,  she  thought  he 
would  he  better  off  away  from  his  father. 

He  thought  he  would  like  to  live  where  George 
and  Ann  lived  ;  for  while  Lydia  Haynes  was  talking 
with  his  father,  he  was  looking  all  around  to  see  if 
they  had  a  good  place  to  live. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Cousin  Nannie,  they'd  lots  of  cows 
over  there,  and  hens,  and  sheep,  and  little  bossies, 
and  peacocks,  and  geese,  and  lots  of  little  turkeys 
down  in  the  field ;  and  cherries  and  lots  of  roses. 
Oh,  'tis  awful  nice  !  " 

"  Is  it  any  better  than  where  you  have  been  living." 

"  Better !  I  guess  you'd  think  so.  There  isn't  a 
single  tree  near  to  where  father  and  I  stay,  and  its 
pretty  near  the  water  ;  but  there  hain't  nothing 
pretty  same  as  'tis  here.  No  green  grass  and  lilacs  ; 
and  the  old  woman  that  boards  us  is  awful  cross, 
She  says  she  don't  like  children,  'specially  those 
that  hain't  got  no  mother." 

"  Do  you  go  to  school  ?  " 

"Not  now;  I  did  go,  but  I  didn't  have  nothing  to 
wear." 

"  Did  you  love  to  go  to  school  ? " 

Yes ;  I  liked  to  go  first-rate.  The  school 
marm  said,  I  could  make  better  horses  on  my 
slate  than  I  could  figgers  ;  and  that  making  horses, 
cats,  dogs,  cows,  pigs,  hens,  birds  and  spiders  and 
such  things,  I  could  do  when  I  learnt  everything 
else."  "  Have  you  been  to  dinner  ?  We  have 
been  so  busy  talking,  I  forgot  to  ask  you,"  said 


106  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

Lydia  May  to  her  brother,  who  sat  holding  his  little 
girl. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  it  was  noon  before  we  left  Deborah 
Gill's,  so  that  woman  asked  us  to  eat  luncheon  and 
we  did.  She  seemed  to  take  quite  a  fancy  to  Jona- 
than, and  said  he  didn't  look  much  like  the  other 
children.  She  asked  him  if  anybody  fed  him  on 
cayenne  pepper  when  he  had  the'  toothache  or  ear- 
ache. He  told  her ''no,"  but  he  didn't  understand 
why  she  should  ask  him  that  question,  and  neither 
did  his  cousin 

"  You  had  better  take  out  your  horse  and  put  him 
in  the  barn,  and  we  will  go  over  and  see  Sister 
Phebe." 

"  I  used  to  know  her  husband ;  he  is  brother  to 
Henry's  wife,"  said  Mr.  May.  "  He  was  a  nice 
man." 

"  Yes,  he  is  town  treasurer,  and  he  makes  Phebe  a 
good  husband  ;  yet  I  do  not  think  she  is  any  happier 
than  when  we  lived  here  together.  Arnold  Jencks 
has  a  daughter,  just  married,  and  lives  in  Providence. 
They  were  here  last  Sunday,"  said  Lydia. 

They  dressed  up  little  Sarah  ;  then  went  to  see 
Phebe  Jencks.  Sarah  did  not  know  what  to  make 
of  it;  this  great  tall  man  with  a  tall  hat  carrying 
her  around  and  telling  her  to  call  him  "papa." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  1 07 

Phebe  could  hardly  believe  that  little  Jonathan 
had  grown  so  tall. 

Mr.  May  told  his  sister  all  that  Lydia  Haynes  had 
told  him.  She  said,  perhaps  it  is  true,  yet  this  niece 
of  Deborah's  makes  queer  speeches  ;  but  she  is  very 
kind-hearted.  Sister  Lydia  must  write  Deborah  a 
letter,  for  she  has  seen  -her  more  than  I.  She 
received  a  letter  a  good  while  ago  from  Deborah's 
brother's  widow,  but  she  didn't  say  what  was  the 
matter,  only  she  would  not  be  willing  for  Deborah 
Gill  to  have  charge  of  a  child  of  hers  and  hoped 
the  children's  relatives  would  see  to  it,  and  that  they 
should  be  taken  away  from  there.  We  were  all  so 
busy,  we  did  not  attend  to  the  matter.  I  wonder  at 
Deborah  taking  Ann  to  Newport,  but  you  know 
Sally's  two  sisters  were  at  her  hquse  and  they  live  at 
Newport. 

"  Mrs.  Spooner  said  she  would  board  Deborah  if 
she  would  bring  the  children  with  her,"  said  Mr. 
May. 

"  Did  George  go  with  her  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  go  there,  but  had  gone  to  meeting 
with  Elizabeth  Rathburn  and  then  was  going  some- 
where else,  and  wouldn't  be  home  until  dark." 

"  Are  you  going  to  see  James  and  Will  ?  "  asked 
Phebe. 

"  I  have  got  to  get  back  to  Woonsocket  with  my 
horse  by  six  o'clock  to-night.  If  it  were  not  for  that 
I  would  go  to  Centerdale  and  see  them.  That  is 
where  you  think  they  are  ?  " 


108  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

"  Yes." 

"  As  it  is,  I  will  try  and  come  again  soon,  and  see 
these  children.  I  tell  you,  Phebe,  Sally's  dying 
broke  me  all  up.  You  know  I  was  good  to  her  " 

"  Only  sometimes,  Benjamin,  but  let  the  past  be 
forgotten  and  try,  try,  to  be  a  better  man." 

"  I  will,"  and  took  his  little  Sarah  while  Jonathan 
and  Nannie  came  on  behind,  and  returned  to  his 
sister  Lydia's. 

Oh  !  how  Mr.  May  felt  as  he  looked  towards  the 
little  house  in  the  lot,  where  Ann  was  born,  and 
longing  to  visit  the  lone  grave  of  his  wife,  but  did 
,not  have  the  courage.  He  tried  to  promise  'himself 
that  he  would  leave  off  that  awful  habit  that  had 
clung  to  him  ever  since  he  took  the  first  glass. 

"  Oh,  my  wife  !  my  children  !  Would  to  heaven 
I  had  never  taken  that  first  glass  at  Cumberland 
Hill.  My  pretty,  loving,  faithful  wife,  fainted  the 
first  time  she  saw  me  the  worse  for  liquor.  And 
now,  in  spite  of  myself,  I  find  I  am  unwilling  to  stay 
here  all  night,  because  I  know  I  can  get  all  I  want 
to  drink  only  a  little  way  from  here ;  and  this 
change,  that  I  ought  to  give  my  little  ones,  will  buy 
me  all  I  want.  I  will  drink  just  this  time  and, 
after  that,  I  will  stop,  so  help  me  — I  don't  dare  to 
say  that,  for  I  have  tried  before,  and  the  first  rum- 
hole  I  came  to  I  drank  all  I  could  pay  for.  Then, 
Jonathan  and  I  would  both  go  hungry." 

"What  did  you  say  father;  did  you  speak  to  me  ? " 
said  Jonathan  as  he  caught  up  with  him. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY,  109 

'•  No,  I  didn't  speak." 

They  had  reached  Lydia  May's,  and  Sarah  was 
asleep. 

"  I  will  lay  her  down  ;  and  now  I  must  go  and  see 
Henry  and  Sally  a  minute,"  said  Mr.  May ;  "and 
then  I  must  go.  That  team  must  get  back  to  Woon- 
socket  by  six,  sure  ;  and  its  most  five  now." 

He  went  to  see  his  brother  Henry's  family,  but 
only  stayed  a  few  minutes,  as  really  they  had  but  little 
patience  with  the  erring  man. 

His  brother  Samuel,  who  lived  in  Newton,  had 
cut  him  altogether. 

Mr.  May  went  away,  and,  leaving  Jonathan  said, 
"  take  care  of  yourself  and  papa  will  come  and  see 
you  before  long." 

Jonathan  cried  as  he  thought  how  lonely  his  father 
would  be  without  him,  and  thought  he  would  not 
have  anyone  to  take  care  of  him  when  "  he  came 
home  full,"  as  the  boarders  called  it. 

They  would  sometimes  try  to  plague  the  little  fel- 
low; but,  when  they  saw  the  tears  coursing  down 
his  care-worn  cheeks  and  he  would  run  his  hand 
through  his  curly  hair  and  lift  the  locks  off  his  high, 
broad  forehead  as  if  the  burden  were  too  much  for 
his  brain,  they  would  be  ashaYned  and  pity  the  poor 
boy. 


110  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER   VI. 

THE  day  following  Deborah's  return  was  a  busy 
one.  The  room  for  John,  as  he  wished  to  be  called, 
was  prepared  for  him ;  the  bed  was  turned  around 
so  he  might  view  the  rising  sun,  and,  also,  that  he 
might  awaken  earlier  to  take  the  morning  air. 
Everything  was  done  as  he  desired. 

Lydia  Haynes  came  in  after  breakfast  and  said  to 
Deborah,  "  Where  upon  earth  did  thee  pick  up  that 
white-livered,  freckled-face  man  ?  It  seems  to  me 
I  could  have  found  a  more  healthy  and  agreeable 
piece  of  humanity  than  that.  He  ought  to  take 
snuff".  It  is  good  for  coughs  and  all  head  troubles." 

"  I  did  think  thee  would  look  after  things  while  I 
was  gone  to  yearly  meeting.  The  boys  have  done 
all  the  mischief  they  could  think  of." 

The  boys  didn't  do  it.  George  has  been  a  good, 
faithful  boy  and  has  worked  hard.  Thee  no  business 
to  have  got  cousin  Jane's,  boy  here  until  thee  got 
back." 

And  Lydia  took  a  good  pinch  of  snuff  and  applied 
a  clean  calico  handkerchief  to  her  much-abused 
nose.  "  But  thee  hasn't  told  me  where  thee  picked 
up  that  piec°  of  humanity.  Is  he  one  of  Ann's 
relatives  ?  " 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  Ill 

"  No,  indeed  ;  thee  might  know  better  than  that' 
Thou  sees  he  is  a  highly  educated  man,  a  student 
from  New  Orleans." 

"  Ain't  he  a  forriner?  " 

"  He  is  of  German  descent ;  he  came  to  this  coun- 
try with  Friend  Shove.  Thee  knows  they  traveled 
through  Germany,  and  this  }oung  man  desired  to 
come  to  this  country  and  study,  and  sometime 
become  a  doctor." 

"  A  doctor !  he  don't  look  to  me  as  if  he  could 
doctor  a  cat.  But  what's  he  here  for  ?  Why  don't 
thee  tell  me  ?  " 

"  He  is  here  for  his  health." 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  said  Lydia,  "  I  am  going  over 
to  Cousin  Olive's.  Elihu  is  down  from  Vermont. 
Angeline's  going  back  with  him,  and  I  want  to  send 
some  word  up  to  Aunt  Anne  and  Aunt  Barbara." 

"  They  will  come  here  before  they  go  back,"  said 
Deborah,  "  thee  don't  need  to  be  trapesing  over 
there  all  the  time."  But  Lydia  went. 

John  had  been  to  the  barn  and  all  around,  viewing 
his  new  home.  "  There  is  a  church,  I  see,  off  there 
on  that  hill."  "Yes,S>  said  Ann;  "that  is  on  Cum- 
berland Hill.  And  them  buildings  this  side  belong 
to  Sam  Mann.  He  keeps  lots  of  pigs  in  them  long, 
narrow  houses.  He  is  an  awful  big  man.  I  heard 
a  man  say,  who  used  to  work  there,  that  he  has  to 
have  chairs,  and  bedsteads,  and  wagoais  made  pur- 
pose for  him.  He  rides  right  by  here  sometimes." 


112  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

"  Ann,  thee  come  right  into  the  house.  I'm 
ashamed  of  thee,  talking  with  that  collegian.  Thee 
get  right  up  there  to  the  meal-chest  and  don't  thee 
speak  again  until  thee  gets  that  bushel  of  meal 
sifted  that  George  has  just  brought.  Thee  lazy 
trollop  !  After  I  have  let  thee  go  to  Newport,  and 
took  so  much  pains  with  thee.  I  haven't  forgot  the 
settlement  I  have  got  to  make.  Thee  had  better 
prepare." 

Ann  went  to  her  task,  and,  as  she  drew  her  sieve 
to  and  fro  on  the  sticks,  she  was  wondering  what 
kind  of  punishment  she  would  have.  While  thinking 
this  over,  she  forgot  for  the  moment  that  the  bran 
must  be  emptied  and  she  must  put  a  measure  of 
meal  in  her  sieve  at  once  and  shake  out  the  fine  for 
cooking,  while  the  bran  she  emptied  in  a  deep,  nar- 
row chest  at  her  right. 

She  did  it  all  right,  at  first ;  but  as  she  got  deeper 
in  thought,  she  shook  away  quite  a  while  on  the 
same  lot.  It  so  happened  Deborah  was  down  cellar 
skimming  milk,  and  the  first  thing  Ann  realized  fully 
was  her  taking  her  by  the  arm  and  pulling  her  down 
the  steps,  saying,  "  come  clown  cellar  with  me  ;  go 
along,  none  of  thy  pouting.  I'll  see  if  I  will  have 
such  work." 

They  went  down  the  stone  steps,  and,  going  to 
the  chimney,  she  took  down  the  door  and  told  Ann 
to  get  down  on  her  hands  and  knees  and  crawl  in. 
Not  many  ashes  were  in  there  now,  as  she  had  it 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  113 

cleaned  every  spring  and  they  had  put  what  few  they 
had  made  since  around  the  quince-bushes. 

Ann  had  never  been  in  there  before,  but  she 
knew  she  must  now.  She  begged  of  Deborah,  but  a. 
blow  from  her  flat  hand  silenced  her  pleading,  but 
increased  her  cries.  She  gave  her  a  push,  shut  up 
the  door,  and  went  up  stairs.  Ann  heard  her  shut 
the  great  cellar  door,  and  then  all  she  could  hear 
was  the  clatter  of  the  well-weight  and  when  it  left 
would  wait  to  see  how  many  she  could  count  be- 
fore it  came  back  again.  She  was  not  afraid  of  the 
dark,  as  she  was  never  allowed  to  carry  a  candle  or 
a  lamp. 

At  noon  Deborah  went  down  cellar  and  carried 
Ann  a  crust  of  brown  bread  and  some  water  in  a 
tin  cup.  "  This  is  better  than  thee  deserves.  Does 
thee  know  what  thee  is  shut  up  for  ?  " 

Ann  told  her  because  she  was  naughty  :  but  what 
she  had  really  done  she  did  not  know. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  thee  that  I  would  settle  with  thee, 
for  thy  actions  down  to  thy  aunts  ?  And  thee  didn't 
empty  thy  bran  out  of  thy  sieve,  thee  good-for- 
nothing  trollop.  I'll  see  who  will  be  mistress  here." 

She  then  put  up  the  sheet-iron  door  and  went 
away. 

The  family  thought  Ann  was  out  in  the  lot  after 
berries,  or  over  to  Emma's,  as  she  was  not  to  be 
seen. 

She  was  naturally  of  a  very  happy  disposition  and 
generally  hopeful,  and  always  thinking  what  she 


114  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

would  do  if;  —  but  the  (/"was  in  the  way.  But  the 
beginning  and  the  ending  was  to  mind  Aunt  Deb- 
orah. Although  not  yet  six  years  old,  her  discipline 
had  been  so  severe. 

She  made  up  her  mind  to  do  the  best  she  could 
and,  if  she  got  punished,  to  make  the  best  of  it ; 
and,  when  she  got  a  chance  to  have  a  good  time,  to 
do  it ;  and  if  old  Deborah  lived  until  she  got  to  be 
a  woman,  she  would  let  her  know  that  she  was  no 
better  than  her. 

At  dinner,  Horatio  asked  Deborah  if  she  didn't 
want  the  chickens  toe-nails  ground  off;  they  were 
scratching  up  everything. 

"  Thee  let  them  alone  !  " 

"I  have  fixed  the  turkeys  all  right,"  said  he. 

"  I  have  heard  all  about  thy  mischief.  I  shall 
take  thee  with  me  when  I  go  away.  I  can't  leave 
any  such  naughty  boys  at  home  another  time." 

"  But  George  wan't  naughty  ;  he  worked  all  the 
time  ;  only  I  made  him  turn  the  grind  stone.  I  told 
him  you  would  lick  him  if  he  didn't.  He  said  he 
wouldn't  put  you  to  the  trouble.  Where  is  Ann  ? 
Did  Lydia  tell  you  that  Ann's  father  and  brother 
Jonathan  came  while  you  had  gone  away  ?  " 

"  Has  thee  told  Ann  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Lydia  Haynes  told  George." 

"  He  came  the  same  day  I  came  out  here,  and 
George  did  not  see  them." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  115 

"  I  know  all  about  it.  I  don't  want  Ann  to  know 
anything  about  it,  as  it  will  make  her  feel  uneasy. 
She  acts  bad  enough,  now." 

"  George  says  the  reason  you  knock  him  around 
so,  is  because  he  hain't  got  no  mother,  and  his  father 
does  not  see  to  him.  Now  if  he  had  a  mother  and 
his  father  did  not  drink,  you  wouldn't  dare  to  do  it ; 
and  I  s'pose  if  my  mother  should  die  and  my  father 
should  drink,  you  would  be  cross  to  me,  too,  'cause 
I  hain't  half  as  good  as  he." 

"There,  Horatio,  thee  attend  to  thine  own  busi- 
ness. I  don't  want  any  of  thy  help  ;  when  I  do,  I 
will  let  thee  know.'1 

Ann,  in  her  solitary  confinement,  kept  her  eyes 
shut  most  of  the  time.  She  could  not  see  the  least 
bit  of  light  through  the  door-way,  as  the  cellar  was 
quite  dark.  She  would  hold  her  old  ragged  apron 
up  to  her  eyes  tight,  to  try  and  shut  out  the  awful 
darkness.  She  could  now  and  then  hear  the  clock 
strike.  "Oh,  dear!  will  this  darkness  never  stop? 
Will  she  keep  me  here  all  day  ?  Oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear !  " 

She  would  then  cry  and  hold  her  breath  as  long  as 
she  could,  to  see  if  she  could  not  stop  crying.  She 
then  would  scream  as  loud  as  she  dared,  as  she  did 
not  want  any  one  to  hear  her.  Sometimes  she  stood 
up  and  sometimes  she  sat  down.  She  felt  chilled  ; 
her  teeth  ached  ;  her  ear,  that  had  ached  now  and 
then  ever  since  she  had  the  scarlet  fever,  began  to 


Il6  THREE    HOLES    I^THE    CHIMNEY, 

ache.  "Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  Mother  in  heaven, 
take  me  out  of  this  awful  place,"  Then  she  would 
be  calm  again.  She  rubbed  her  bare  feet  to  keep 
them  warm,  for  she  felt  cold,  although  out  of  doors 
it  was  summer. 

"  In  the  verses  I  read  in  the  Bible  this  morning, 
Jesus  says  '  suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me,' 
and  why  can't  I  go  now.  Oh,  dear !  I  won't  stay 
here.  I  will  die,  I  know  I  shall ;  and  then  calmly 
said,  "  I  don't  care  if  I  do.  Then  they  will  find  me 
here  and  Aunt  Deborah  will  have  to  tell  what  she 
did,  and  then  she  will  be  punished." 

But,  as  all  things  have  an  end,  so  did  Ann's  soli- 
tude. Deborah  thinking  to  make  Ann's  fright 
complete,  took  an  old  coat  and  went  softly  down  the 
cellar  stairs  and  pulling  the  door  of  the  ash-hole 
away  a  little,  shook  one  of  the  sleeves  within,  and 
growled,  "  I  am  old  black  Henry ;  I've  come  to  get 
you."  Then  waited  to  hear  what  Ann  would  say ; 
but  she  was  not  afraid  of  old  black  Henry. 

He  lived  down  near  Lonsdale.  She  had  seen 
him  many  times,  and  she  knew  that  Deborah  had 
said  that  black  folks  were  just  as  good  as  white 
folks.  Ann  begged  for  black  Henry  to  take  her  out, 
"  I  am  awful  cold  and  hungry.  I  never  will  be 
naughty  any  more.  Aunt  Deborah  has  shut  me  up 
here,  and  I  hain't  done  nothing  bad."  She  begged 
and  begged,  and  Deborah  finding  her  plan  did  not 
work,  took  the  door  away  and  said,  "  come  along 
out ! " 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  117 

She  crept  out,  all  ashes  and  cobwebs,  and  was 
really  an  awful  looking  sight. 

"  Now  thee  go  and  wash  thyself  and  clean  the 
filth  off  thy  clothes,  and  thee  needn't  tell  where  thee 
has  been.  I'm  ashamed  to  let  the  folks  know  how 
thee  has  behaved  ;  and  now  thee  go  and  finish  sift- 
ing that  meal  before  supper." 

Ann  could  hardly  see  after  being  in  the  dark  so 
long.  It  took  her  a  long  time  to  comb  her  hair  and 
get  the  ashes  off  her  clothes.  She  tried  to  sift  the 
meal,  but  her  arms  seemed  to  have  lost  their  strength, 
and  in  a  little  while  she  lay  faint  and  sick  on  the 
meal-chest  floor. 

Elizabeth  came  and  found  her  and  called  for  Deb- 
orah. They  took  her  up  and  carried  her  into  the 
bed-room  and  laid  her  on  her  bed  of  rags  on  the 
hearth,  as  Deborah  would  not  tumble  up  her  bed, 
and  she  had  not  a  lounge  in  the  house. 

"  Why,  Deborah,  her  hair  is  all  ashes  !  Where 
has  the  child  been  ?  There  is  quite  a  bunch  on  her 
head,  too." 

Ann,  had  recovered  sufficiently  to  open  her  eyes 
but,  the  instant  the  light  struck  them,  she  cried 
with  pain. 

"  Let  her  lay  there,"  said  Deborah.  "  She  is  ugly, 
she  is  only  making  believe."  But  Elizabeth  knew 
better. 

"  She  has  been  out  and  got  tired,  or  perhaps  she 
is  sun- struck." 


Il8  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

"  I'll  risk  it." 

"  But  thee  will  let  me  get  her  something  to  take, 
won't  thee  ? " 

"  I  want  some  dinner,"  said  Ann. 

"  Hasn't  thee  had  thy  dinner  ?  " 

"  Only  a  crust  of  bread  and  some  water.  I  only 
had  a  piece  of  Johnny-cake  for  breakfast,  'cause 
aunt  Deborah  said  I  had  eat  enough  and  sent  me 
away  when  I  had  just  begun."  This  Ann  said  in  a 
whisper,  and  her  eyes  closed  from  the  light. 

Deborah  brought  in  a  bowl  of  strong  thorough- 
wort  tea,  as  bitter  as  bitter  could  be,  and  forced  it 
down  Ann's  throat,  while  Elizabeth  had  gone  to  get 
her  something  to  eat ;  but  Deborah  met  her  and 
told  her  she  could  only  have  a  cracker,  as  she  had 
been  a  very  naughty  girl,  and  she  could  not  have 
any  of  that  which  was  left  of  their  dinner.  There 
was  just  enough  for  their  breakfast,  warmed  over, 
and  that  Horatio  and  John  were  very  fond  of  roast 
lamb.  So  Ann  took  the  cracker  and  was  glad  to 
have  anything  to  take  the  bitter  taste  out  of  her 
mouth. 

Deborah  told  her  to  go  out  and  sit  on  the  stair  in 
the  sitting-room,  but  she  could  hardly  walk.  She 
told  her  to  take  her  knitting  and  go  to  work,  and  no 
more  fussing.  "  If  thee  had  behaved  thyself,  thee 
would  not  have  got  thy  desserts. 

Ann  felt  she  had  been  cruelly  dealt  with,  but  knew 
if  she  said  she  was  sick  Deborah  would  feed  her  on 
cayenne  pepper.  She  would  take  half  a  teaspoon- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  I  19 

ful  and  mix  it  up  to  a  thick  paste,  and  make  her  eat 
it  for  a  punishment  or  if  she  said  she  was  sick. 

Hot  coals  of  fire  could  not  have  been  much  worse, 
so  she  tried  the  best  she  could  to  keep  the  needles 
moving. 

"  Here,  Aunt  Deborah,  is  a  letter,"  said  Horatio 
Dudley.  "  It  is  mailed  at  Cumberland  Hill." 

"  Let  me  have  it ;  no  matter  where  it  is  mailed  ;  it 
is  none  of  thy  concerns." 

Envelopes  were  not  used  at  that  time  :  letters 
were  written  with  goose-quills  and  sealed  with  little 
red  wafers. 

She  went  into  her  room  and  opened  her  letter. 
Deborah  reads  with  much  surprise  the  following  :  — 

"  Cumberland,  Aug.  8,  1837. 
DEBORAH  GILL  :  — 

I  am  sorry  to  say  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  write  to 
you  about  my  brother  Benjamin's  children  ;  but 
different  people  have  been  here  and  all  tell  the  same 
story.  That  you  are  not  as  kind  to  them  as  you 
would  be  if  they  were  your  own.  But  as  we  do  not 
not  know  anything  about  it,  except  what  we  are  told, 
we  do  not  know  how  to  judge  you,  but  hope  you  will 
try  and  do  what  is  right  in  regard  to  these  two 
motherless  children. 

I  should  like  to  have  you  come  over,  and  bring 
them  to  see  their  sister.  She  is  a  great  deal  of  com- 
pany for  us  as  she  grows  older. 

Yours,  in  haste, 

LYDIA  MAY. 


120  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY,     ' 

"  Well  done  !  Some  of  my  enemies  have  been  to 
Lydia  May  and  made  a  complaint.  They  had  bet- 
ter mind  their  own  business.  Lydia  May  is  a  nice 
woman,  and  would  not  have  written  this  unless 
some  one  had  said  something.  '  Spare  the  rod  and 
spoil  the  child.'  I  hope  it  will  be  like  bread  cast 
upon  the  waters.  I  will  take  the  children  over  to 
see  their  sister,  and  find  out  where  this  stuff  comes 
from." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


"  OH,  aunt  Deborah,"  said  Horatio  coming  in,"  here 
are  a  lot  of  Canadians,  and  they  are  coming  in  the 
yard." 

The  men  came  and  asked  her  if  she  would  give 
them  something  to  eat.  "Yes,  certainly."  She 
went  out  and  found  there  were  ten  in  all,  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  all  wanted  to  be  fed. 

"  Ann,  thee  set  the  table  and  let  them  come  in 
and  set  down.  They  say  they  have  not  had  any 
dinner. 

"  I  haven't  neither,"  said  Ann. 

"  Thee  hold  thy  tongue.  These  are  poor  people, 
and  have  not  as  good  a  home  as  thee  has  ;  and,  if 
thee  does  not  get  thy  stent  done,  thee  will  not  have 
any  dinner,  either.  Go  and  tell  these  folks  to  come 
right  in  and  eat  all  they  want.  I  will  never  turn  the 
needy  from  my  door,  '  for  inasmuch  as  ye  have  done 
it  unto  the  least  of  my  brethen,  ye  have  done  it  un- 
to me,'  "  said  Deborah. 

Ann  sat  on  the  step  leading  into  the  sitting-room, 
half  wishing  she  was  in  their  places.  She  had  not 
finished  her  stent  the  day  before  and  she  had  not 
eaten  anything  that  day,  except,  when  no  one  \\as 
looking,  she  would  take  a  mouthful,  and  if  she 
heard  any  one  coming  would  swallow  it  whole. 


122  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

The  Canadians  did  not  seem  hungry  at  all,  but 
took  what  there  was  on  the  table  and  put  it  in  bas- 
kets which  they  had  in  their  hands  when  they  came 
in  the  yard. 

They  thanked  Deborah,  and  wanted  some  eggs, 
and  some  corn  for  their  horses.  Deborah  gave  them 
some  and  they  went  on  their  way  rejoicing,  for  they 
had  done  the  same  thing  at  the  Lapham  house. 
They  didn't  get  the  table  set  for  them,  but  got  milk 
and  food  in  their  baskets,  so  they  had  a  good  meal. 

John  said  such  a  generous  woman  he  never  saw 
before,  and  when  he  was  requested  to  sign  a  petition 
which  Deborah  had  with  her,  for  the  purpose  of 
procuring  signers  for  the  emancipation  of  the  slaves 
at  the  south,  he  at  once  did  so  ;  but  said  he  knew 
very  little  about  American  slavery. 

Deborah  took  Anti-Slavery  papers  and  told  him  to 
read  how  cruelly  they  were  treated.  The  slaves 
were  beaten  very  cruelly  ;  then  washed  with  salt  and 
water,  and  they  were  almost  starved  to  death.  They, 
had  to  work,  and  if  they  did  not  get  their  task  done, 
they  were  made  to  go  without  food  for  a  day  at  a 
time.  She  told  him  that  children  were  taken  from 
their  parents  when  young,  and  put  in  a  pen  and 
raised  as  you  would  pigs  ;  they  were  shut  up  in  dark 
holes,  and  they  would  run  away  if  they  could  get  a 
chance.  The  slave-holders  had  dogs  to  chase  them  ; 
and,  if  caught,  would  be  put  in  irons,  and  many 
other  awful  things,  which  John  thought  was  reason 
enough  to  sign  his  name,  if  by  so  doing  he  could 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  123 

help  release  these  black  people.  Deborah  had  this 
petition  to  carry  around  so  as  to  get  signers  and 
have  it  presented  before  the  legislature,  thus  to  have 
legislation  free  this  unfortunate  race. 

She  had  Ann's  name,  Horatio's,  George's,  Char- 
lie Dexter's,  and,  in  fact,  everybody's  who  would 
like  to  see  negroes  free. 

She  was  very  much  pleased  when  William  Lloyd 
Garrison,  the  great  anti-slavery  man  of  his  time, 
dined  at  her  house  and  conferred  with  her  as  to 
the  best  thing  to  be  done  to  accomplish  this  result, 
to  emancipate  the  slaves.  She  showed  him  the  long 
list  of  names  she  had  got  ;  and,  as  Neighbor  Clark 
was  their  representative,  she  was  to  carry  her  peti- 
tion to  him.  So,  when  she  got  ready,  she  carried  it, 
and  wished  him  to  attend  to  it,  hoping  that  with 
hundreds  of  others  of  the  same  stamp,  might  cause 
congress  to  act  upon  the  subject. 

Certainly,  such  women  as  Abbie  Kelly  and  Deb- 
orah, and  others  just  as  active,  would  not  fail  in 
freeing  every  poor  slave  in  the  United  States. 

She  did  not  want  them  to  go  back  to  Africa.  Oh, 
no,  she  would  be  so  glad  to  have  some  of  them  with 
her,  she  could  take  such  good  care  of  them. 

Well  ;  Deborah  went  and  presented  the  petition 
to  Neighbor  Clark  and  wished  him  and  his  family 
to  sign  it,  but  when  he  had  looked  at  it  he  carefully 
folded  it  up  and  very  politely  handed  it  to  her. 

"  But  Samuel  I  want  thee  to  take  it."  Yes,  I 
know, —  beg  pardon  ;  but,  Deborah  Gill,  more  than 


124  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

half  of  these  names  are  those  of  children  that  know 
nothing  whatever  about  what  they  signed  for,  or 
what  freeing  the  slaves  mean.  And  another  thing, 
I  will  not  have  anything  to  do  with  any  petition  of 
this  kind  from  your  hands  until  you  free  your  white 
slaves  at  home. 

When  Deborah  returned  home,  Elizabeth  came  to 
her  and  said,  "  Well,  Deborah,  how  did  thee  succeed 
with  thy  petition  at  Neighbor  Clark's?" 

"  He  said  I  had  white  slaves  at  home,  and  he 
would  have  nothing  to  do  about  it.  Thee  knows  he 
is  not  an  abolitionist.  He  is  an  old-fashioned  whig. 
I  shall  inform  Friend  Garrison. 

l<  Deborah,  I  wanted  to  ask  thee  if  we  had  not 
better  send  for  Dr.  Lamb.  John  is  evidently  worse. 
I  think  his  being  thrown  from  the  chaise  hurt  him. 
He  has  complained  of  his  side  ever  since.  I  have 
felt  quite  lame,  but  have  not  given  much  thought  to 
myself,  I  have  been  so  anxious  about  John." 

"  I  am  sorry  that  thee  undertook  to  carry  John  out 
to  ride,  and  that  old  Jim  should  have  turned  round  so 
quick  as  to  upset  the  chaise,  but  am  glad  it  hap- 
pened here  in  the  yard,  so  we  could  help  thee  up 
and  see  to  both  of  you,"  said  Deborah. 

'*  George  must  go  for  Dr.  Lamb  and  see  what  he 
can  do  for  John  :  yet,  I  think,  Deborah,  John  is  on 
his  death-bed,"  said  Elizabeth. 

"  Dost  thou,  really  ?  " 

•'Consumption  is  such  a  deceitful  disease.  One 
will  walk  out  to-dav,  and  to-morrow  leave  us  for- 


OK    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  12$ 

ever,''  and  Elizabeth  shed  tears  for  the  man  she  had 
taken  care  of  for  the  last  few  weeks. 

The  doctor  came  and  left  something  to  relieve  the 
sick  man,  and  cautioned  his  nurse  about  wearing 
herself  out. 

"  When  the  doctor  went  out,  Deborah  questioned 
him  :  "  What  dost  thee  think,  doctor  ?  " 

"  This  autumn's  leaves  will  cover  his  grave,  I  am 
persuaded,"  said  the  good  old  doctor,  He  then 
asked  her  how  this  young  man  became  an  inmate 
of  her  house.  She  told  him  how  it  all  happened, 
and  he  promised  to  call  in  occasionally. 

"  Yes,  thee  had  better." 

*  *  *  * 

"  Ann,  thee  come  here.  Thee  knows  I  have  had 
some  stones  thrown  down  on  the  ground,  at  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house,  I  am  going  to  have  my  outside 
cellar  paved  with  them,  so  thee  take  a  tin  pan  and 
carry  them  down  for  one  hour,  and  then  thee  may 
sit  down  and  rest  and  do  thy  yesterday's  stent.  But, 
first,  go  up  and  see  if  Elizabeth  wants  thee  to  do 
anything  for  her." 

Ann  went  up  into  the  sick  man's  room.  John  could 
not  speak  loud,  but  he  said  to  Ann,  "  Yes,  I  want 
you  to  go  and  wash  your  face  and  hands  and  comb 
your  hair.  I  don't  like  to  see  her  look  so  shabby, 

Elizabeth" 

Ann  felt  very  much  ashamed.     She  seldom  looked 

in  the  glass,  as  Deborah  told  her  she  was  so  homely  ^ 
and  only  silly  folks  prinked  up  before  a  glass,  and 


126  THREE    HOLES    IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

she  didn't  want  to  see  any  such  actions.  Ann  told 
Deborah  what  John  said,but  she  told  her  to  go  to  work 
carrying  stones  down  cellar,  and  if  anybody  came,  to 
put  the  pan  down  and  wash  her  face  and  go  to  knit- 
ting. So  she  went  to  work  filling  a  pan  with  stones, 
for  paving,  and  carried  them  down.  She  did  not 
mind  it  much  for  the  first  half  hour,  but  now  her 
side  began  to  ache  and  she  was  glad  when  she  saw 
Isaac  Lapham  walking  into  the  yard.  He  had  come 
to  inquire  about  the  sick  man. 

"  Olive  Manning  came  over  to  see  how  they  all 
were.  She  said  "  Job  is  quite  tired  out.  This  has 
been  a  very  trying  summer." 

Before  she  went  home  Ann  was  invited  to  come 
over  the  next  day  and  see  Emma.  "  She  may  go  ; 
but  she  must  knit  and  get  her  stent  done." 

"  I  will  see  that  she  does,"  said  Olive. 

The  next  day,  Ann  carried  stones  down  cellar  all 
the  forenoon.  At  noon,  when  she  carried  some 
milk  down,  she  spilled  some  on  the  stone  steps,  so 
Deborah  got  a  pail  of  water  ready,  and  when  Ann 
got  quite  near  to  it  she  took  hold  of  her  and  put  her 
head  in  under  the  water,  and  held  her  until  it  stran- 
gled her,  and  then  she  let  her  up. 

"  There,  how  does  thee  like  that  ?  See  if  thee 
can  be  more  careful  next  time.  Now  go,  get  thy 
testament,  and  learn  ten  verses  of  the  chapter  that 
begins  with  '  I  beseech  you  therefore,  brethren,  that 
ye  love  one  another.'"  Ann  tried  hard  to  get 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  127 

the  lesson,  but,  as  she  was  a  very  little  girl,  and  did 
not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  big  words,  she. 
was  all  the  afternoon  trying  to  commit  the  verses  to 
memory.  She  knew  she  could  not  go  to  Emma's 
that  day. 

The  next  day  Horatio's  father,  mother,  brother, 
sister  Lizzie  and  the  baby  Charlie  came.  Then  he 
knew  that  he  must  go  home  and  go  to  school. 

It  was  true,  aunt  Deborah  was  cross  to  him  some- 
times, and  scolded  him,  yet  his  father  did  that.  He 
liked  to  see  George  and  Ann  work,  but  did  not  like 
to  see  them  punished,  so  tried  to  make  it  easy  for 
them.  Deborah  was  very  glad  to  see  her  niece 
Jane  and  her  children, 

Sometimes  she  seemed  really  fond  of  children,  and 
would  hug  and  squeeze  them  until  they  cried  ;  she 
said  she  loved  Ann  but  it  would  not  do  to  let  her 
know  it. 

Mrs.  Dudley  invited  Ann  to  come  and  see  Lizzie, 
sometime,  and  make  a  good  long  visit.  Deborah 
said  perhaps  she  might  come  next  summer. 

"  The  stage  has  stopped,  Deborah  and  Friend 
Tourtellotte  is  assisting  out  a  lady  and  little  girl," 
said  Elizabeth  the  day  following. 

"  I  hope  no  one  has  come  to  stay,  for  John  is  very 
tired  and  nervous.  There  was  much  noise  here 
yesterday ;  Jane's  children  were  quite  noisy,  thee 
know." 


128  '1HKEE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

By  this  time  Eleanor  Holton  and  a  pretty  little 
girl  named  Helen,  had  reached  the  door. 

"Oh,  ah!  I  see  it  is  Eleanor,  that  used  to  board 
with  me.  I  heard  thee  was  married.  I  am  glad  to 
see  thee  ;  and  this  is  thy  little  girl.  I  am  astonished; 
how  much  she  looks  like  thee.  Art  thou  from  Prov- 
idence, Eleanor?  " 

"  Yes  :  I  am  going  to  Manville  to  work  in  the 
mill.  You  did  not  know  that  my  husband  was  dead, 
did  you  ?  He  was  a  sea  captain,  and  his  ship  was 
lost  and  all  on  board,  except  one  of  the  crew,  per- 
ished; he  in  some  way  was  saved.  We  were  left 
destitute  and  I  am  going  to  Manville  to  work,  and 
thought  perhaps  you  could  board  Helen,  part  of  the 
time,  at  least." 

"  I  have  a  sick  man  here  now,  but  it  is  not  likely 
he  will  be  here  long,  and  thee  knows  I  have  two  of 
Benjamin  May's  children  to  bring  up." 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  know  you  had  any  children  herer 
or  I  shouldn't  have  thought  of  you  taking  Helen. 
You  took  them  after  I  left  Albion." 

Thee  must  stay  until  to-morrow,  and  we  will  carry 
thee  to  Manville.  Thee  may  let  Helen  stay  here 
until  thee  gets  settled." 

But  Helen  cried  and  said  she  wanted  to  stay  with 
her  mamma  all  the  time,  so  nothing  more  was  said 
about  it. 

"  Where  is  Jonathan  ?  ''  asked  Ann. 

"  His  father  came  and  took  him  away  with  him. 
I  hated  to  have  him  go,  but  his  father  said  he  was 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  129 

Mrs.  Holton  went  to  work  in  the  Manville  factory 
and  came  to  Deborah's  whenever  she  had  a  chance, 
so  after  awhile  Helen  got  acquainted  and  wanted  to 
stay  a  week  with  her,  for  she  was  so  kind  to  the  little 
black-eyed  Helen.  Whenever  she  stayed  there  her 
mother  paid  her  board. 

Elizabeth  came  down  stairs  and  talked  about  get^ 
ting  John  to  come  down  and  go  out  in  the  yard, 
it  was  so  pleasant. 

"Dost  thou   think    it  will    do   him   injury?" 

"  I  don't  think  it  will.  Thee  knows  Eunace  Farn- 
ham  said,  '  let  him  do  just  as  he  likes  for  it  won't 
really  make  any  difference.  He  won't  be  with  us 
long  at  the  best.'  He  may  live  along  quite  awhile 
yet,  but  I  think  it  doubtful." 

John  Steubin  is  helped  down  stairs  and  George 
gets  a  chair  for  him. 

"  If  I  could  only  get  a  little  more  strength  in  my 
limbs,  and  stop  this  coughing,"  said  the  sick  man. 

But  he  only  stayed  out  a  little  while  before  he 
tells  his  kind  nurse  he  is  tired  and  will  go  back  to 
his  room.  This  was  the  last  time  he  went  out  alive. 
He  died  within  one  week. 

So  this  stranger  in  a  strange  land  was  buried  in 
the  burial  ground  Deborah  pointed  out  to  him  as 
they  passed  it  coming  from  Providence. 

One  lone  grave  can  now  be  seen  on  the  left  hand 
side  of  the  drive-way. 

Elizabeth,  his  kind  nurse,  was  his  only  mourner. 
She  tried  to  make  his  last  days  as  peaceful  as  possi- 


130  THREE    HOLES    IN    A    CHIMNEY, 

ble,  and  he  died  with  the  assurance  that  they  would 
meet  again  "over  there." 

Elizabeth  Rathburn  desired  to  go  and  visit  her 
sister  Waity's  family. 

The  house  seemed  quite  deserted  ;  John  Stuebin 
dead,  Elizabeth  gone,  and  Horatio  was  missed  very 
much  by  both  Ann  and  George.  Friend  Morey  and 
wife  would  soon  be  there.  He  was  the  Baptist  min- 
ister engaged  to  preach  at  Lime  Rock,  also  at  Albion. 
He  desired  that  Deborah  should  board  a  young  man 
named  Spencer  Whitman.  He  fell  from  a  load  of 
hay  and  broke  a  leg,  which  made  him  quite  lame. 
He  had  been  a  student  at  Brown's  University,  but 
for  some  reason  he  proposed  to  study  with  Reuben 
Morey  and  not  return  to  Brown's  until  the  coming 
spring. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  131 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

Lydia  May  had  not  seen  her  brother  since  he  left 
her  house  for  Woonsocket.  Jonathan  had  stayed 
with  her,  and  most  of  the  time  went  to  school  near 
there. 

He  had  Will  and  Arnold  May  for  playmates, 
although  they  were  some  older. 

Everybody  loved  him,  he  was  such  a  kind,  pleas- 
ant boy.  His  brothers,  James  and  Will,  came  to  see 
him,  and  all  went  to  Deborah's  to  see  George  and 
their  sister  Ann. 

She  did  not  know  what  to  say  when  three  big  boys 
came  in  with  George  to  see  her.  She  was  ashamed 
of  herself  when  she  looked  at  the  old,  dirty  apron, 
and  not  whole  at  that.  It  was  all  rust,  off  of  the  old 
tin  pan,  which  she  had  hugged  up  to  her,  as  she  carried 
her  heavy  load  down  cellar. 

Her  hair  was  combed  quite  slick  behind  her  ears. 
Her  cheeks  were  always  red,  and  her  skin  white  and 
clear.  She  was  really  a  very  intelligent-looking 
child ;  and,  when  interested,  her  dark  gray  eyes 
looked  black.  She  was  quite  large  of  her  age. 

Deborah  seemed  quite  pleased  with  the  boys' 
appearance,  and  questioned  James  about  his  earnings. 
He  said  he  had  money  with  him  he  had  saved  to  go 
to  school  with,  the  coming  winter.  She  told  him 
she  would  hire  it  of  him,  and  when  he  wanted  it  he 


132  THREE   HOLES   IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

might  come  and  get  it ;  so  he  left  a  certain  amount 
with  her. 

Will  bought  Ann  a  little  box  covered  with  a  velvet' 
cushion  on  which  were  the  words,  "forget  me  not." 
On  the  inside  of  the  cover  was  a  looking-glass.  He 
put  twenty-five  cents  in  it,  and  so  did  James. 

Ann  almost  cried  for  joy,  as  she  thought  "  now 
they  will  take  me  away  from  here,"  but  they  were 
quite  pleased  with  Ann's  home,  for  Deborah  got 
them  a  nice  dinner  and  told  them  that  when  George 
got  old  enough  she  would  send  him  to  school  away 
off,  and  Ann  was  going  to  Friends'  School,  and  she 
would  have  a  brown  silk  dress  made  out  of  hers,  and 
they  thought  that  would  be  "  tip  top." 

Jonathan  told  Ann  that  he  and  his  father  came  to 
see  her  and  George  when  she  was  at  Newport. 

The  boys  said  they  thought  they  would  go  there, 
but  not  now  ;  they  had  heard  that  their  Grandmother 
Southwick  was  dead. 

Ann  and  George  watched  for  a  chance  to  speak  to 
the  boys  alone,  but  could  not,  as  Deborah  did  not 
leave  them  alone  for  a  moment. 

She  told  Ann  to  get  the  Testament  and  read  to 
the  boys,  the  chapter  beginning  with,  "  Children 
obey  your  parents." 

As  Ann  had  committed  to  memory  a  great  many 
chapters,  she  could  read  those  very  nicely.  As  she 
was  reading,  Lydia  Haynes  came  in.  "Why  don't 
thee  shut  up  thy  book  Ann  ?  thee  has  known^  that 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  133 

chapter  these  six  months  ; "  but  Ann  read  until  she 
finished  the  chapter. 

"  These  are  Benjamin  May's  children,  Lydia." 

"Yes,  I  thought  so,  I  remember  that  youngest  one. 
Thee  was  here  with  thy  father  when  Ann  was  away." 

Deborah  had  not  sent  her  petition  for  the  libera- 
tion of  the  slaves  at  the  south,  so  sent  Ann  in  her 
room  to  get  it. 

The  boys  could  write  nicely,  especially  James,  so 
Deborah  added  three  more  to  her  long  list.  Lydia 
said  to  them,  "Where  is  thy  father  now,  boys?  I 
told  him  to  come  again  and  see  his  children  but 
perhaps  he  does  not  like  to.  He  is  not  fit  to  have 
such  a  lot  of  smart  boys,  and  I  would  tell  him  so  if 
I  had  a  chance,  the  shiftless  coot." 

"  Why,  Lydia,  seems  to  me  thee  is  giving  the  man 
a  pretty  good  setting  out,"  said  Deborah. 

Ann  was  trying  hard  to  realize  that  these  nice- 
looking  boys  were  her  brothers.  They  went  out  and 
looked  around  the  place,  and  George  managed  to  say 
he  wanted  to  run  away,  but  Will  said  "no  ;  we  have 
to  work  hard  in  the  mill,  and  sometimes  the  over- 
seers are  cross." 

Deborah  steps  up  and  says,  "tell  thy  aunt  Lydia 
I  will  come  and  see  her  and  bring  Ann  before 
long." 

The  boys  went  back  to  their  aunt's  and  stayed  all 
night.  They  went  to  see  their  mother's  grave. 
"When  we  get  money  enough  we  will  have  a  white 
stone  just  like  Emily  May's,  and  a  little  tree  with 


134  THREE    HOLES    IX    THE    CHIMNEY, 

long  leaves  just  like  that,"  said  James.  "  That  won't 
cost  much,  and  it  looks  nice." 

But,  to  this  day,  no  stone  marks  the  resting-place 
of  Benjamin  and  Sally  May. 

"  Well,  Ann,  thy  brothers  are  gone  and  I  want 
thee  to  carry  down  ten  pans  of  stones,''  said  Debo- 
rah, "and  then  thee  had  better  help  George  do  the 
chores.  I  want  thee  to  learn  to  milk.  The  black 
heifer  is  gentle,  and  George  will  learn  thee  how." 
So  George  was  to  learn  his  sister  how  to  milk.  She 
could  not  get  much  milk  as  her  hands  were  so  small, 
but  tried  until  she  got  a  good  kick  from  the  cow, 
and  then  went  crying  into  the  house. 

Deborah  said  she  must  not  be  so  foolish ;  she 
must  keep  trying.  And  so  she  did,  until  she  could 
milk  one  cow.  So,  when  George  was  busy,  she  and 
Deborah  would  milk.  When  apples  were  to  be 
picked  up,  Ann  worked  hard  all  day  from  morning 
until  night ;  when  stones  were  to  be  picked  up,  Ann 
was  in  the  lot,  doing  as  fast  as  she  could  ;  when 
potatoes  were  to  be  picked  up,  Ann  was  there.  And 
then  to  rest  she  had  her  knitting  work.  If  she  did 
not  get  her  work  clone,  she  was  sent  to  bed  witnout 
her  supper. 

If  George  did  not  do  as  much  as  she  thought  he 
ought  to,  she  would  stop  up  to  him,  unawares,  and 
give  him  a  blow  with  a  stick  or  a  raw-hide,  just 
which  was  nearest  at  hand. 

Joseph  Battey  was  not  going  to  live  in  the  shop 
this  winter,  and  Deborah  thought  she  would  fit  it  up 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  135 

for  a  school  room.  Elizabeth  would  keep  school  and 
the  neighbors  would  send  their  children.  George 
and  Ann  could  go  some,  when  they  were  not  needed 
for  work. 

In  order  to  pay  her  expenses  and  gain  money, 
Deborah  needed  to  practice  economy,  and  did  sell 
every  egg,  every  pound  of  butter,  every  apple  she 
could  spare  ;  and,  when  she  could,  took  a  boarder 
now  and  then.  She  also  made  loom  harnesses,  and 
in  doing  this  the  children  helped  her.  They  were 
made  of  twine  ;  the  skeins  were  put  on  swifts  and 
Ann  could  fill  the  needles,  George  could  do  the 
work  on  one  side  and  Deborah  on  the  other.  These 
three  would  work  many  nights  until  after  ten  o'clock. 

Sunday,  they  went  to  meeting  either  at  Friends' 
or  to  Albion.  Emma  and  her  brothers  went  at 
Albion  to  Sunday  school,  and  so  did  Susan  and 
Desire  Willarcl  ;  so  the  children  could  come  part 
way  home  all  together. 

Ann  had  a  pair  of  light  cotton  gloves  given  her 
while  she  was  at  Newport.  She  lost  one  at  Albion 
and  was  kept  out  in  the  fields  for  three  days  without 
finding  it.  She  had  breakfast  each  day,  but  had 
no  dinner  or  supper. 

Deborah  had  company  from  Providence,  —  Hiram 
Gill's  family.  Ann  was  told  she  need  not  waste  any 
more  time,  but  could  go  to  Albion  no  more  that 
season.  Hiram  Gill  was  a  nephew  of  Deborah's* 
a  son  of  her  brother.  He  was  survevor  of  lumber. 


136  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

His  family  often  came  out  and  stayed  quite  awhile  ; 
also  his  brother  Jabez,  and  Aunt  Massey,  his  mother. 

Mrs.  Gill  thought  Ann  very  smart,  and  made  the 
remark  that  her  children  didn't  know  enough  to  step 
over  a  shingle  alone  at  her  age. 

Phebe  Barker  was  an  only  daughter  of  Deborah's 
sister  Freelove,  and  a  great  favorite  with  her.  She 
would  say  to  Phebe,  "after  me  thee  will  fare  well." 

Phebe  Barker  looked  like  the  Gills  somewhat. 
Her  hair  was  black  ;  also,  her  eyes.  She  was  very 
pleasant,  and  rather  over  the  medium  height,  and 
very  genteel  in  appearance.  Her  general  health 
was  not  good  ;  in  fact,  she  was  considered  an  inva- 
lid. No  one  could  remember  when  Phebe  Barker 
said  she  was  well.  Her  father  and  mother  died 
when  she  was  yet  a  young  lady,  and  left  her  some 
property,  but  not  sufficient  to  support  a  confirmed 
invalid  ;  so  she  visited  and  boarded  with  different 
relatives  and  friends,  and  as  Deborah  was  kind  to 
her  and  often  made  her  promises  that  after  her  she 
would  fare  well,  she  seemed  to  have  more  claims 
upon  her  and  her  affections  than  either  of  her  other 
relatives.  She  had  a  good  offer  of  marriage  once, 
but  Deborah  quickly  talked  her  out  of  the  notion 
of  marriage,  as  she  would  be  so  much  better  off  as 
she  was. 

As  Deborah  had  never  been  in  that  situation 
herself,  she  seemed  to  think  it  best  for  everybody 
else  to  remain  unmarried. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  137 

"  George,"  said  Deborah,  "  thee  harness  up  old 
Jim,  and  thee  and  I  will  go  to  meeting.  Ann  won't 
go  ;  she  has  lost  the  ring  out  of  the  wash-basin." 

"  I  don't  think  Ann  did  it.  That  was  in  the  sink 
the  other  day,  and  I  think  it  may  have  got  washed 
down  the  drain,"  said  George. 

"  I  saw  Helen  pulling  it  out,  the  other  day,"  said 
Ann. 

"  No,  thee  didn't.  Helen  never  does  mischief. 
Now,  if  thee  don't  find  it  while  I  am  gone  to  meet- 
ing, and  knit  the  heel  of  that  stocking,  I  will  give 
thee  a  settlement.  Thee  keep  all  the  doors  locked, 
except  the  back  door,  and  ^ if  beggars  come,  thee 
must  not  let  them  in  the  house  ;  and  thee  get  pota- 
toes on  for  dinner,  as  Phebe  Barker  and  her  brother 
will  come  home  to  dinner  with  us."  And  so  this  lit- 
tle girl  of  six  years  was  left  all  a!one. 

Ann  closed  the  shutters  up  tight  and  tried  to  be 
as  still  as  possible,  but  she  had  got  to  look  for  the 
ring  to  the  wash-basin  and  finish  the  heel  of  Deb- 
orah's stocking  which  she  was  knitting  Ann 
got  the  potatoes  on  at  twelve.  She  did  not  know 
where  to  look  for  the  ring.  She  would  look  in  some 
rubbish  out  by  the  bee-house,  yet  she  knew  well 
enough  it  had  been  washed  down  the  drain.  She 
was  quite  busy,  when  she  heard  some  one  rapping  at 
the  door,  She  went  around  to  the  front  side  of  the 
house  and  her  heart  almost  stopped  beating,  for 
there  stood  one  of  the  most  hideous-looking  men 
she  ever  saw.  He  wanted  something  to  eat,  "and 


138  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

quick  too."  Ann  knew  she  mustn't  let  him  into  the 
house.  She  told  him  if  he  would  sit  on  the  step  she 
would  go  and  get  him  something  to  eat. 

When  she  had  got  a  piece  of  brown  bread,  the 
only  thing  she  dared  touch,. (for  in  Deborah's  house, 
they  would  as  soon  go  to  her  silver  pitcher  and  take 
money  as  to  dare  touch  her  food,)  she  went  out  and 
the  man  was  not  to  be  seen.  He  was  looking  around 
about  the  out-buildings  to  see  what  he  could  find. 
He  soon  came  towards  her  with  a  stick  in  his  hand, 
and  asked  her  if  the  folks  were  at  home.  As  Ann 
was  sure  to  tell  the  truth,  she  told  him  "  no,"  but 
they  would  be  soon.  He  told  her  to  get  him  some- 
thing more  and  to  be  quick  about  it. 

Ann  was  much  frightened.  She  looked  towards 
the  tool-house  and  saw  that  the  clasp  was  all  right, 
if  she  could  find  the  walnut  peg ;  so  she  told  him 
that  in  back  of  that  little  room  was  the  cheese  room, 
and  in  there  were  cheeses,  preserves  and  lots  to  eat. 
He  went  in  and  tried  to  open  the  cheese  room 
door,  which  was  locked,  and  Deborah  had  the  key. 
As  soon  as  the  man  had  got  to  the  door  Ann,  almost 
holding  her  breath,  slammed  the  door  and  fastened 
it.  It  was  pitch  dark  in  the  tool-house. 

Ann  was  in  misery  for  fear  he  would  take  the 
iron  bar  and  break  down  the  door.  She  went  into 
the  house  and  hid  herself  where  she  could  watch  the 
tool-house  door. 

She  was  glad  enough  when  she  saw  old  Jim  com- 
ing in  the  yard.  She  said  nothing  until  Phebe  got 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  139 

into  the  house.  She  then  stepped  up  to  Deborah 
and  said  that  there  was  a  beggar  in  the  tool-house. 

Deborah  went  and  unfastened  the  door,  and  saw 
a  man  nearly  asleep.  She  said  "  what  art  thou  do- 
ing here,  friend?  "  She  found  he  had  been  drink- 
ing, and  saw  a  bottle  in  his  coat-pocket.  She  shook 
him  and  that  wakened  him.  She  then  said,  "Dost 
thou  want  something  to  eat  ?  " 

She  got  him  sonre  dinner,  and  then  inquired  how 
he  happened  to  be  shut  up  in  the  tool-house.  He 
said  that  while  he  was  trying  to  get  into  the  cheese- 
room,  the  door  shut  and  he  couldn't  open  it ;  if  he 
had,  he  "  would  have  knocked  that  gal's  head  off," 
as  all  she  gave  him  was  a  crust  of  bread. 

"Thee  had  better  be  going  now,"  said  Deborah, 
"  and  don't  thee  let  me  know  of  thy  coming  this 
way  again,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for  thee." 

Ann  had  not  done  half  her  stent  nor  found  the 
ring.  She  was  glad  to  have  Phebe  there,  for  she 
was  always  very  kind  to  her. 

Charles  \vas  going  home  in  a  few  days,  but  he 
worked  out  with  George  and  went  with  him  to  ped- 
dle fruit.  They  also  carried  milk  to  Albion. 

Sometimes  Deborah  went,  too.  In  berry  time  she 
and  Ann  picked  berries  to  sell  ;  indeed,  there 
seemed  not  to  be  a  moment  that  Deborah  did  not 
work  and  kept  the  children  at  work  from  early  morn 
until  late  at  night. 

Phebe  said  she  would  fix  a  dress  for  Ann.     Deb- 


14°  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

orah  told  her  to  have  it  come  to  the  top  of  her  shoes, 
in  length. 

She  wore  calf  skin  shoes  for  best,  and,  for  eveiy 
day,  split  cow-hide.  She  wore  her  aprons  long  and 
made  of  pound  calico,  as  were  nearly  all  her  dresses. 

Deborah  bought  her  prints  at  the  print  works  by 
the  pound.  She  bought  waste  thread  by  the  pound  ; 
also,  silk  which  she  got  of  her  nephew,  Samuel  Gill, 
at  Northampton. 

She  had  a  friend  living  in  Lime  Rock  who  was 
blind.  Her  name  was  Hepsabeth  Harris.  She  used 
to  have  waste  thread,  and  she  pulled  it  all  out  and 
made  little  balls,  all  wound  up  very  nicely,  in  all 
colors.  Everybody  who  came  to  see  her  received 
one  as  a  present.  Deborah  usually  had  them  on 
hand. 

"  Now,  Ann,"  says  Deborah,  "  thee  needn't  think 
I  have  forgotten  that  thee  has  not  found  that  ring. 
Neither  did  thee  get  thy  stent  done,  and  I  am  going 
to  give  thee  a  ducking  ;  and  to-night  thee  will  not 
have  any  supper,  unless  thee  finds  that  ring  ;  and 
thee  take  thy  bible  and  get  ten  verses  of  the  Psalm 
which  begins  with  "Blessed  are  the  undefiled  and 
they  that  walk  in  the  law  of  the  Lord  ;  "  "  and  don't 
thee  let  me  see  thee  look  off  thy  book." 

Charles  had  gone  home,  and  Deborah  took  this 
time  to  give  George  a  whipping,  taking  him  out  into 
the  shop  cellar  and  using  the  raw-hide.  She  had 
sent  him  out  to  work  and  found  him  talking  with 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  141 

one  of  the  Clark  boys,  and  she  thought  he  had  been 
idling  away  his  time. 

The  potatoes  were  to  be  dug ;  the  apples  were  to 
be  picked  ;  and,  later,  the  quinces.  She  and  Ann 
would  work  out  all  day,  and  she  would  do  her  cook- 
ing mornings  and  evenings.  The  children  ought  to 
have  gone  to  school,  but  she  could  not  spare  them  ; 
and  so  these  motherless  ones  toiled  on  until  their 
faces  looked  tired  and  worn. 

This  was  to  be  a  very  busy  winter  at  Deborah's. 
Elizabeth  Rathburn  would  teach  school  in  the  shop. 
Reuben  Morey  and  his  wife  Abbie  would  board  with 
her  awhile.  Spencer  Whitman  was  coming  to  spend 
three  months. 

She  knew  she  ought  to  go  to  Cumberland  to  see 
Lydia  May.  No  knowing  what  stories  her  enemies 
had  told  about  her ;  even  her  relatives  were  her 
enemies  in  this  affair. 

Deborah  said  to  Ann,  one  pleasant  morning, 
"  thee  go  and  get  thyself  ready,  and  I  will  take  thee 
over  to  see  thy  sister.  Thee  be  careful  what  thee 
says.  I  have  got  eyes  and  ears  all  around  me,  and 
can  tell  if  thee  don't  mind  me.  Thee  loves  me, 
don't  thee?  What  dost  thou  hesitate  for?  Thee 
say  'yes,'  willingly,  or  thee  shan't  go  a  step." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ann. 

"  Well,  if  I  ask  thee  if  thee  loves  me,  thee  speak 
up  quick.  Thee  knows  I  am  going  to  send  thee  to 
Friend's  School  when  thee  gets  old  enough  ;  and  that 
brown  silk  I  will  have  made  over  for  thee.  Thee 


142  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

carry  thy  knitting  and  show  thy  aunts  what  thee  can 
do.  We  will  go  across  lots  to  Albion,  and  then 
across  to  thy  aunts." 

They  arrived  at  the  old  May  homestead  about 
eleven  o'clock.  Ann  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes 
when  she  saw  this  lovely  little  girl,  with  her  pretty 
pink  dress,  and  apron  trimmed  with  edging,  and 
pretty  coral  beads  around  her  neck. 

She  had  just  been  over  to  her  Aunt  Phebe's  house. 
Her  husband  was  sick  and  died  some  months  later, 
and  Phebe  May  found  herself  a  widow  and  with  her 
sister  Lydia  once  more. 

Lydia  May  felt  just  a  little  embarrassed  on  the 
subject  she  had  written  about,  when  she  saw  how 
vexed  Deborah  seemed  to  feel  about  it, 

''  I  took  thy  brother's  children  when  they  had  no 
other  place  to  go  to,  and  now  see  how  my  enemies 
compass  me  about.  Ann,  don't  thee  love  thy  aunt 
Deborah  ?  " 

"  Yes;  shall  I  get  my  testament  now  and  read  the 
verses  I  got  yesterday  ? " 

"  Yes,  thee  may  ;  and  then  I  want  thee  to  knit, 
and  when  thy  little  sister  gets  older,  thee  may  learn 
her." 

"  But  she  can  braid  straw  ;  do  look  at  her  !  " 

"  Yes,"  her  aunt  Lydia  said.  "  Nannie,  my  niece, 
who  is  here  with  me,  lets  Sarah  have  some  poor 
straws  and  a  cup  of  water,  and  she  will  wet  her 
little  fingers  and  amuse  herself  quite  awhile.  Sarah, 
get  your  dolly  and  dishes  and  show  Ann  how  you 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  143 

play  keep  house,"  said  her  aunt.  "  Sarah  fares 
well;  she  is  the  pet  of  the  neighborhood.  If  their 
mother  could  only  have  lived  until  they  were  a  little 
older!  But  it  was  the  Lord's  will  that  she  should 
be  taken,  perhaps  from  the  evil  to  come,"  said 
Lydia. 

"  Where  is  Jonathan  ?  "  asked  Ann. 

"His  father  came  and  took  him  away  with  him. 
I  hated  to  have  him  go,  but  his  father  said  he  was 
lonesome  without  him,  and  I  suppose  he  might  as 
well  see  to  at  least  one  of  them.  Did  he  come 
to  your  house,  Miss  Gill." 

"  I  haven't  seen  thy  brother  but  once  since  his 
wife  died." 

After  dinner,  Deborah  said,  '•  Now  friend  Lydia, 
what  did  thee  mean  by  writing  the  letter  thee  sent 
me  a  few  weeks  ago  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.  Men  that  have  worked  for  you 
say  that  you  shut  Ann  up  in  dark  holes  ;  put  her  un- 
der wash-tubs  ;  and  that  you  put  her  head  under 
water  and  held  it  there  until  she  strangled  ;  and  fed 
her  out  of  the  swill  pail ;  and  give  her  cayenne  to 
eat,  which  alone  would  create  inflammation  ;  and 
does  not  have  half  enough  to  eat ;  and,  in  the  sum- 
mer, sleeps  on  the  brick  hearth,  and,  in  the  winter, 
sleeps  at  your  feet.  And  more  than  this,  you  keep 
them  both  at  work  an  unreasonable  amount  of  time. 
One  man  told  me  you  whipped  George  dreadfully 


144  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

with  a  raw  hide  and  that  his  feet  have  been    frozen. 
It  is  too  barbarous  to  repeat." 

"  Lydia  May,  dost  thou  believe  all  that  thou  hast 
just  repeated  ? " 

"  It  is  too  bad  to  believe.  I  can't  think  that  a 
person  of  your  superior  education  and  standing  in 
society  could  treat  such  helpless  children  like  that ; 
they  could  not  help  their  being  born,  their  mother's 
death  or  their  father's  neglect. 

"There,  Lydia  May,  thee  may  not  say  anything 
about  it.  Thee  knows  the  wise  man  said, '  spare  the 
rod  and  spoil  the  child.'  Thee  knows  it  is  neces- 
sary to  punish  lazy  boys.  I  hope  it  will  be  like 
bread  cast  on  the  waters.  I  am  going  to  send  Ann 
to  Friends'  School  when  she  arrives  at  the  years  of 
understanding." 

"  I  am  sorry,  if  I  have  hurt  your  feelings.  As 
regards  the  children,"  said  Lydia.  "  I  have  done  my 
duty.  I  have  told  you  what  people  say." 

"Yes,  I  know  my  enemies  conspire  against  me, 
but  they  had  better  attend  to  their  concerns,  and  I 
will  attend  to  mine.  Don't  thee  think  so  Friend 
Lydia  ?  Dost  thee  take  the  Liberator  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  have." 

''  Thee  knows  not  what  thee  loses,  I  assure  thee. 
I  have  a  petition  in  my  work-bag  which  I  should 
like  to  have  thee  sign.  We  philanthropic  women 
hope  to  get  congress  to  free  the  poor  black  men." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  145 

Lydia  said  she  had  read  much  about  it  in  the 
papers,  and  was  willing  to  sign  her  name,  although 
she  did  not  believe  that  all  the  papers  in  Christen- 
dom would  make  any  difference. 

Deborah  asked  her  if  she  would  write  Sarah's 
and  Nannie's  names  for  them,  but  Lydia  thought  as 
they  were  not  old  enough  to  consider  the  matter, 
their  names  would  be  much  out  of  place  in  congress. 
Deborah  and  Ann  started  for  home  early  so  as  to 
get  there  before  dark. 

Ann  thought  she  could  not  leave  her  cunning  little 
sister,  and  cried  when  she  kissed  her  good-bye,  and 
nearly  all  the  way  home.  They  went  home  across 
lots  and  passed  through  the  door-yard  of  Mrs. 
Thomas. 

She  told  Deborah  she  had  enjoyed  poor  health 
for  over  ten  years. 

Ann's  crying  and  what  she  had  heard  seemed  to 
enrage  Deborah,  and  made  her  even  more  severe 
with  the  children  than  before.  She  would  let  people 
know  that  she  was  capable  of  attending  to  her  own 
matters  without  any  interference. 

The  least  trifling  cause  would  bring  a  blow  that 
was  almost  enough  to  stun  an  ox. 

Helen  Holten  came  to  stay  a  week,  and  George 
dared  to  ask  her  about  the  ring  of  the  wash-basin. 
She  said,  "  it  came  out  and  went  down  that  hole  and 
I  made  it  go  there,  too."  Deborah  was  so  vexed 
that  her  favorite  Helen  had  done  a  piece  of  mis- 
chief and  for  the  other  children  to  know  it,  that  she 


146  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

followed  them  out  with  her  bunch  of  sticks  and  gave 
them  cuts  just  where  they  would  hit.  Helen  saw  it, 
and  cried,  "  don't  kill  them  Auntie,  I  did  it ;  whip 
me,  too."  But  Deborah  had  got  through  ;  and  as 
she  turned  to  go  in,  Phebe  and  Lydia  came  in. 
She  put  up  her  sticks  and  came  forward  all  smiles  to 
meet  them. 

"  Thee  has  been  at  thy  old  capers  again"  said 
Lydia.  "  What  dost  thou  mean  whipping  those 
motherless  children  ?  I  think  thee  has  mistaken 
thy  calling.  Thee  would  do  credit  to  a  slave  plan- 
tation. Thee  put  on  men's  clothes,  and  let  thyself 
as  a  nigger  driver." 

"  Lydia,  don't  thee  talk  saucy  to  thy  Aunt  Deb- 
orah, who  has  done  so  much  for  thee.  How  did 
thee  find  thy  friends  in  Providence?  I  did  not 
know  that  thee  was  coming  back  until  quarterly 
meeting." 

"  I  will  tell  thee.  Sister  Phebe  is  going  to  be 
married  to  a  man  named  Russel,  I  think  he  sells 
scythes,  or  something  of  that  sort.  If  she  is  so 
determined  to  be  so  foolish  as  to  take  a  husband  to 
bother  with,  I  would  like  to  be  up  there  and  give 
them  a  piece  of  my  mind  ;  but  they  have  got  to 
suffer,  not  me  ;  "  and  she  took  out  her  much  used 
snuff-box  and  gently  tapping  it  said,  "  Phebe,  thee 
had  better  take  a  pinch  ;  it  is  good  for  old  maids." 

"  Why,  Lydia,''  said  Deborah,  '•  I  am  ashamed  of 
thee,  calling  Phebe  an  old  maid.  She  is  not  half  as 
old  as  I  am." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  147 

"  I  know  it  aunt,  but  thee  knows  that  thee  is  one, 
and  very  likely  always  will  be.  We  can  see  the 
goodness  of  an  all- wise  Providence,  that  He  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  in  letting  thee  remain 
unmarried  so  long,  for  have  who  thee  would  thee 
certainly  would  wear  the  breeches." 

"Art  thou  going  to  thy  father's  house  to-day  ?  " 

"  As  my  husband  is  not  well,  I  must  go  to-mor- 
row. Perhaps  thee  will  carry  me  up,  as  it  is  pre- 
paratory meeting,  and  Elizabeth  Header  said  she 
would  like  to  be  present  at  this  meeting,  and,  if  she 
is,  she  will  eat  dinner  with  us." 

''  I  will  go,"  said  Deborah.  "  Thee  had  better 
see  to  some  of  thy  things  in  the  shop,  as  a  school  is 
to  be  kept  there  this  winter." 

Deborah  went  to  meeting  fifth  day  and  carried 
Lydia  to  her  father's  house.  Ann  went  with  them, 
thanks  to  kind  Lydia.  When  Deborah  got  home, 
she  found  a  letter  which  Stafford  Manning  had 
brought  to  her.  It  was  from  Reuben  Morey,  stating 
that  he  would  like  to  come  to  her  house  within  three 
weeks,  and  Spencer  Whitman  would  be  there  soon, 
if  convenient. 

She  kept  her  house  so  nicely  that  nothing  of 
importance  was  to  be  done. 

Friend  Morey  and  wife  would  have  the  parlor- 
chamber  and  the  room  leading  out  of  it.  The  beds 
were  dressed  with  white  dimity,  with  valance  of 
the  same. 


148  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

Spencer  Whitman  would  have  the  long  back  cham- 
ber, so  there  was  plenty  of  room,  and  all  in  order. 

Deborah  hired  a  man  from  Albion  to  help  finish 
the  fall  work.  Every  fall  the  shag-bark  trees  had  to 
be  watched.  Sunday's  the  factory  boys  would  come 
with  a  large  sack  and  get  them  and  apples,  too,  and 
would  throw  stones  at  the  children  who  watched 
them. 

Ann  finished  carrying  the  stones  down  cellar,  this 
fall  ;  then  Deborah  had  the  cellar  paved  which 
really  made  it  no  better,  for  the  stones  were  hard  to 
walk  on. 

In  due  time  her  friends  came.  She  never  called 
them  boarders,  but  friends  staying  with  her. 

The  school-room  was  put  in  order  in  the  shop  and 
George's  clothes  somewhat  mended. 

After  they  came,  Ann  had  lots  to  do.  All  the 
running,  it  was  Ann,  bring  me  this,  or  Ann  carry 
that,  and  be  in  haste,  and  to  ever  think  of  going  to 
school  ! 

Elizabeth  came  and  commenced  the  school.  Quite 
a  number  came  from  the  Manning  neighborhood. 
A  cousin  of  Olive  Manning  came  also  ;  a  girl  about 
sixteen,  named  Viola  Lapham.  She  was  larger  than 
her  teacher,  and  was  an  acquisition  to  the  school, 
as  she  was  a  smart,  sensible  girl  and  not  afraid  to 
say  what  she  thought  was  right. 

Ann  could  only  go  now  and  then.  Sometimes  she 
would  only  be  in  school  one  or  two  hours  a  day,  and 
George,  who  needed  schooling  so  much',  would  often 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  149 

go  in  at  recess  or  have  to  leave  at  recess,  and  some- 
times not  go  at  all  during  the  day,  but  was  supposed 
to  keep  up  with  his  classes  just  the  same.  He  had 
learned  to  read  by  reading  the  Bible  every  morning 
with  the  rest  of  the  family,  but  had  never  used  a 
slate  or  knew  anything  about  ciphering  as  did  the 
other  boys  of  his  age. 

The  teacher  was  kind,  and  tried  to  do  all  she 
could  with  both  ;  but,  after  she  kept  a  few  weeks, 
was  taken  sick,  and  Spencer  Whitman  offered  to 
teach  the  school.  He  did  not  have  any  patience 
with  these  unfortunate  children,  for  they  could  not 
keep  along  with  the  rest  of  the  school. 

George  could  not  spell  and  pronounce  the  word 
Nova  Scotia  as  he  thought  he  ought  to,  and  he  flew 
into  a  passion  and  took  a  long,  wide  ruler  from  the 
desk  of  Viola  Lapham  and  gave  the  boy  a  most 
unmerciful  whipping  He  tried  him  again  and  then 
he  did  not  do  it  right,  and  again  did  Spencer  Whit- 
man go  after  the  ruler,  and  the  resolute  Viola  put 
the  ruler  under  her  apron  and  the  teacher  called  her 
to  give  it  to  him.  She  stood  up  and  said,  "you can- 
not have  it  to  beat  that  poor  boy  with,  and  now  I  am 
going  home." 

Some  of  the  scholars  were  crying  and  some  were 
frightened  at  the  enraged  man.  The  scholars  went 
home,  and  the  teacher  got  the  raw-hide  and  beat  the 
poor  boy  almost  to  death. 

Viola  went  into  the  house  and  told  Deborah  about 
it,  and  the  minister  said,  "you  know  the  Bible  says. 


150  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE    CHIMNEY, 

'  train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,  and  when 
he  is  old  he  will  not  depart  from  it. ' ' 

But  Viola  said  to  him,  "  I  have  read  the  Bible 
enough  to  know  that  Spencer  Whitman  or  any  other 
man  has  not  any  right  to  pound  a  little  fellow  to 
death,  because  he  cannot  spell  a  word." 

"  I  suppose  thee  will  go  home  and  tell  Olive  some 
of  thy  lies,  and  then  I  will  have  more  letters  from 
my  enemies,"  said  Deborah  Gill. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  lying  and  don't  think  I 
shall  begin  now.  The  truth  is  bad  enough.  I  have 
seen  all  I  want  to.  It  will  be  a  long  day  before  I  go 
to  school  to  any  such  man  as  you  have  got  there." 
So  saying,  Viola  Lapham  went  home,  and  thus 
ended  the  school. 

Elizabeth  did  not  fully  recover  her  strength  all 
winter,  but  helped  Deborah  about  her  work. 

Spencer  Whitman  wanted  to  hear  Ann  and  George 
recite  their  lessons  As  they  only  had  spelling,  it 
did  not  take  much  time.  They  did  not  have  time  to 
study  that  properly  ;  they  had  cuffs  and  kicks  from 
him  and  Deborah  seemed  to  think  him  such  a  help 
to  her  in  training  up  the  children. 

One  morning  Ann  missed  a  word  and  he  pulled 
away  the  chest  of  bedding  which  was  placed  against 
the  door,  opening  into  the  chimney  in  his  room. 
He  took  her  up  and  thrust  her  down,  head  first,  into 
the  great  hole  over  the  oven  which  was  in  the  sitting 
room.  She  screamed  as  never  before. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  151 

Reuben  Morey  and  his  wife,  Abbie,  came  running 
into  the  back  chamber  to  know  the  cause  of  all  this 
disturbance.  They  saw  him  pull  Ann  up  out  of  this 
place  and  scold  her,  but  when  he  found  she  could 
not  spell  the  word,  he  was  about  to  put  her  dowu 
again  head  first,  but  they  begged  him  to  let  the  child 
go,  or  she  would  be  frightened  out  of  her  senses. 
He  gave  her  a  push  and  she  fell  nearly  the  whole 
length  of  the  back  stairs.  Deborah  said  to  Spencer 
Whitman,  without  inquiries,  I  will  settle  with  Ann 
for  her  actions. 

She  took  her  out  to  the  wood-house  and  gave  her 
a  whipping  with  the  sticks  until  the  people  in  the 
house  thought  she  would  whip  the  child  to  death. 
She  was  then  kept  on  bread  and  water  for  two  days, 
not  allowed  to  come  to  the  table  at  all,  and  was  kept 
at  work  all  of  the  time. 

Ann  was  only  six  years  old  this  February,  but 
life  seemed  awful  to  bear  and  she  would  say,  "  Oh, 
my  mother  in  heaven !  does  God,  that  I  read  about 
so  much  in  the  Bible,  love  little  children  that 
hain't  got  no  mother?''  And  so  Ann  would  cry 
and  cry,  and  beg  that  she  might  die  and  be  out  of 
misery.  But  children's  troubles  are  soon  forgotten 
and  their  minds  taken  up  with  each  changing  scene. 
There  were  many  comers  and  goers,  so  there  was 
plenty  to  do.  Deborah  was  always  full  of  business, 
and  had  a  happy  faculty  of  keeping  every  one  at 
work  when  there  was  a  cent  to  be  gained. 


152  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

James  May  had  sent  for  his  money  and  got  it 
with  interest,  for  he  wished  to  go  to  school.  He 
sent  the  children  some  change  as  a  present.  Ann 
kept  her's  in  the  little  box  her  brother  Will  had 
given  her.  Visitors  now  and  then  would  give  the 
children  a  cent,  or  more,  and  they  were  allowed  to 
keep  it. 

Ann  had  a  guaze  neck-handkerchief  which  was 
her  mother's.  This  was  the  only  thing  she  ever  had 
that  belonged  to  her  mother.  She  would  kiss  it  and 
cry  over  it,  undo  it  and  fold  it  around  her  neck,  and 
then  slowly  do  it  up  and  lay  it  away  with  her  box 
and  tin  pail  she  had  had  given  her. 

Some  one  had  given  her  a  little  chair  about  four 
inches  tall. 

If  she  could  steal  away  and  look  at  these  things 
she  would.  They  were  in  a  little  garret  over  the 
kitchen,  in  a  box. 

George  and  Ann  were  glad  to  hear  that  Deborah's 
friends  were  going  away  on  the  stage  next  day,  for 
their  work  would  be  some  easier.  They  had  to  run 
for  them  half  of  the  time.  When  Friend  Tourtel- 
lotte,  as  Deborah  called  the  stage-driver,  slammed 
thu  stage-door  and  drove  away,  all  seemed  to  be 
relieved.  They  had  not  been  gone  over  an  hour 
when  Captain  John  drove  into  the  yard.  He  had 
come  to  see  if  Deborah  had  a  cow  to  sell.  He  had 
spoken  to  her  about  a  heifer  she  had  to  sell  the  sum- 
mer previous,  but  he  had  not  got  ready  to  buy  until 
now. 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  153 

Deborah  went  with  him  to  the  barn,  and  after 
much  unnecessary  talk,  Captain  John  took  the  cow 
home.  He  then  came  to  pay  her  for  it.  Everything 
seemed  to  go  on  more  pleasant  than  usual.  Debo- 
rah seemed  to  be  very  happy  about  something,  and 
one  day  Captain  John  came  and  took  her  out  to 
ride.  When  he  came,  she  was  not  dressed  ready  to 
receive  him,  and,  although  it  was  quite  cold,  she 
opened  her  bed-room  window  from  the  outside,  told 
Ann  to  get  an  old  chair,  and  she  got  in  her  room  with- 
out being  seen.  This  Ann  thought  was  very  strange 
but  as  she  never  asked  questions  of  Deborah,  she 
helped  her  in. 

She  dropped  one  of  her  slippers.  Ann  threw  it  in 
after  her,  which  made  quite  a  noise ;  so  that  when 
she  went  round  and  went  into  the  sitting  room  where 
Captain  John  was  waiting  and  talking  with  Eliza- 
beth, she  inquired  of  Ann  who  was  in  Deborah's 
room. 

Ann  very  innocently  replied,  "Aunt  Deborah  is; 
I  just  helped  her  get  in  the  window.  She  dropped 
off  her  old  shoe,  and  I  threw  it  in.  I  guess  I  hit 
her,  but  I  did  not  mean  to." 

Ann  might  have  said  much  more,  had  not  Debo- 
rah come  out  of  her  room,  all  smiles,  and  with  a 
kind  "how  art  thou,  friend  John,"  she  told  Elizabeth 
that  she  might  let  Ann  go  over  to  visit  Emma  and 
Susan  this  afternoon,  and  said  that  neighbor  John 
and  she  were  coins:  to  Providence  to  a  dinner  given 


154  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMXEY, 

by  the  Governor.  And  to  see  that  George  -has  the 
feathers  ready  for  Smith  when  he  comes,  as  its  his 
day,  and  the  next  time  he  came  she  would  have  some 
tin-ware  for  pay ;  and  give  Ann  her  stent  to  do,  and 
not  work  too  hard  herself.  They  would  be  back 
sometime  during  the  evening. 

Ann  rejoiced  at  the  prospect  before  her,  and 
wished  the  old  man  would  come  every  day  as  it 
made  aunt  Deborah  so  clever.  They  had  not  been 
gone  half-an-hour,  when  Smith,  the  tinman,  came. 
He  sat  down  by  the  fire  and  began  to  laugh,  and 
said,  "Well,  Miss  Rathburn,  old  aunt  Deborah  has 
really  got  a  feller.  I  declare  that  beats  my  time. 
I  met  'em  down  here  near  Ben  Newman's,  and  they 
were  talking  away  and  seemed  as  happy  as  two  mice. 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  that  would  be  a  match,  but 
who  would  ever  thought  it !  Old  Captain  John,  a 
rough  old  chap  at  the  best  —  you  know  sea-captains 
always  are-— and  for  him  to  get  hitched  up  with 
such  a  putcheky,  precise  old  maid  as  Deborah  Gill. 
Ha !  ha !  "  And  the  old  tin-pedler  rubbed  his 
hands  in  high  glee. 

"What  pleases  thee  so,  friend  Smith,"  said  Eliza- 
beth. "  Dost  thee  think  it  strange  that  my  friend 
Deborah  wants  a  husband  ?  Thee  knows  this  farm 
is  quite  a  care  for  her." 

"  Yes,  I  know,  but  if  that  is  too  much  for  her  to 
see  to,  what  on  airth  does  she  want  that  old  covy 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  I$5 

for  to  take  care  on.  He  is  all  bunged  up  with 
rheumatis',  but  anyhow  Deborah  Gill  will  see  to  her 
own  affairs  and  his'n  too. 

"  Folks  say  he  hain't  none  too  clever  himself,  and 
if  he  gets  his  match  I  shall  be  glad  on't.  But  she 
can't  rawhide  the  captain  as  she  does  that  little  fel- 
low out  there,  chopping  wood." 

Elizabeth  thought  she  had  heard  enough  about 
her  friend,  so  she  told  him  the  feathers  were  ready 
for  him.  The  hens',  turkeys'  and  guinea  hens' 
feathers  were  all  in  together.  She  told  him  there 
were  a  few  live-geese  feathers  but  the  down  was 
saved  to  make  comforters  and  pillows  for  her  own 
bed.  The  nun  took  the  feathers,  and,  with  a  few 
more  remarks  about  the  old  couple,  went  his  way, 
telling  the  story  that  Deborah  Gill  was  going  to  be 
married  sure,  as  he  had  met  her  and  Captain  John 
ridin'  out,  and,  of  course,  they  were  too  old  to  do 
much  flirtin'. 

That  explains  how  Captain  John  went  to  Deb- 
orah's to  buy  a  co\v,  He  wanted  to  get  better 
acquainted  with  the  old  lady  herself,  said  the  neigh- 
bors. 

Ann  took  her  knitting  and  went  over  to  see  the 
girls.  Olive  inquired  how  Aunt  Deborah  was.  Ann 
said  she  guessed  she.  was  well  enough  ;  she  had 
gone  away  with  an  old,  fat  man,  who  had  got  no 
teeth,  and  not  a  bit  of  hair  on  top  of  his  head. 


156  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"Aunt  Deborah  said  she  was  going  to  Providence 
to  get  some  dinner,  and  was  not  coming  back  until 
after  dark,  and  so  she  could  stay  until  night.  I 
must  knit  twenty  times  round,"  said  Ann.  Brother 
George  said,  now  Aunt  Deborah  had  got  a  beau, 
she  had  got  something  to  take  up  her  mind,  and  he 
guessed  she  would  not  be  so  cross. 

Olive  Manning  could  knit  just  like  Ann  so  she 
would  tell  her  to  go  and  play  with  the  children  and 
then  would  knit  once  or  twice  around  on  her  work 
so  that  Ann  would  not  notice  it,  but  would  wonder 
how  her  stent  would  get  done  so  quick ;  and  so  this 
kind  woman  would  try  and  give  Ann  a  little  time  to 
play. 

They  went  over  to  Susan  Willard's  to  stay  to 
supper.  Susan's  father  was  a  very  pleasant  man, 
with  quite  a  happy  way  of  speaking.  He  said  to 
Ann,  "  I  hear  old  Deborah  is  really  going  to  be 
married.  Prelett  said  he  met  old  Capt.  John  and 
Deborah  riding  out  pretty  near  the  Butterfly  Mill. 
He  guessed  they  were  going  to  Providence.  That 
beats  all !  I  don't  see  what  either  of  'em  want  to 
get  married  for  He  has  got  a  farm,  and  children, 
and  grandchildren.  I  guess  he  will  wish  himself 
master  of  his  own  vessel  ;  but  she  may  be  good  to 
the  old  man  as  long  as  he  does  not  depend  on  her. 
He  has  got  money  enough  to  take  care  of  himself." 

In  a  few  minutes  Ruth  Manning,  who  was  teach- 
ing school  quite  near,  came  in.  She  had  walked 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  157 

from  her  school  and  was  tired.  She  wanted  to 
know  if  they  had  heard  the  news.  Smith,  the  tin- 
man, had  been  to  their  house  and  had  told  them  all 
about  how  Aunt  Deborah  was  riding  out  with  Capt. 
John.  "Perhaps  it  will  be  a  match.  She  won't 
be  quite  so  fond  of  taking  children  to  live  with  her." 
"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Willard,  "  I  don't  believe  in 
having  so  many  unmarried  women  around  here,  do 
you  Ruth  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  over  and  see  Olive  and  Elizabeth  a 
little  while,  and  call  at  Isaac  Lapham's  on  my  way 
home." 

It  was  near  time  for  supper,  when  Susan's  mother 
said,  "  come,  girls,  run  out  and  get  the  eggs,  and  I 
will  set  the  spinning-wheel  one  side  ;  and  you, 
Susan,  must  help  me  get  supper.  The  four  girls  all 
went  out  to  get  the  eggs.  The  hen  house  was  like 
a  cave  under  the  hill ;  all  stone  with  only  a  door, 
and  no  windows.  It  was  very  warm  for  the  hens 
and  every  now  and  then,  they  built  a  fire  inside,  thus 
cleansing  it  by  fire  and  smoke. 

The  girls  all  enjoyed  their  supper.  Such  nice 
griddle  cakes  baked  over  the  fire  and  biscuits  baked 
in  a  pan  over  the  fire,  and  nice  custard  pie. 

Ann  seldom  had  pie  at  home,  as  Deborah  would 
say  to  her,  "  have  a  piece  of  pie  Ann  ?  "  and  then  in 
a  whisper  say  "  no." 

Ann  said,  "  I  wish  the  old  man  would  come  real 


158  THREE    HOLES    IN    A    CHIMNEY, 

often,  as  Aunt  Deborah  would  not  have  let  me  come, 
only  I  boosted  her  into  the  window  so  nice  that  she 
seemed  quite  pleasant."  Ann  went  back  to  Olive's 
and  then  started  for  home. 

Just  as  Ann  was  going  in  at  the  gate,  she  met  an 
old  lady  they  called  Aunt  Nabby  Sayles.  She  said, 
"you're  the  little  gal  that  lives  here  at  Deborah's, 
ain't  yer?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ann. 

"  Well,  Benjamin  see  Capt.  John  and  Deborah 
ridin'  ouf  way  down  below  the  old  meetin'-house> 
going  to  Providence,  I'll  be  bound.  I  always  knew 
Deborah  and  all  the  family.  I  don't  know  just  how 
old  Deborah  is,  but  she  was  born  in  huckleberry 
time  ;  I  know  that,  but  just  how  many  years  ago  I 
can't  say  ;  risin'  fifty  though.  I  must  go  along,  as  it 
is  almost  dark.  I  want  to  stop  in  and  see  Ann 
Clark  and  Hammond's  folks,  but  I  stopped  so  long 
at  Mary  Lapham's  ;  for  Anne  Gully  was  there  and 
they  were  speaking  about  it.  If  Deborah  Gill 
should  have  Capt.  John,  how  on  airth  will  the  prop- 
erty be  divided  ?  He  tried  to  get  Anne  Gully  once, 
but  she  didn't  want  him.  But  good-night  little  gal 
perhaps  you  won't  get  ducked  so  much  if  she  has 
that  eld  man  to  see  to.  Give  my  love  to  Deborah, 
and  tell  her  his  first  wife  was  a  dreadful  good-natered 
creter,"  and  this  nearly  blind  old  lady  went  on  her 
way. 

Ann  did  not  understand  half  what  this  eccentric 
but  clever  old  lady  meant.  She  had  passed  a  very 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  159 

pleasant  day,  and  Ann  felt  as  if  the  world  was  not 
all  penned  up  within  the  stone  wall  enclosure  of 
Deborah's  domain. 

George  had  been  busy  all  day  carrying  in  wood 
and  piling  it  up  in  the  wood  house.  He  had  cut 
his  finger  while  cutting  up  some  small  wood,  and  the 
next  day  Deborah  wanted  to  know  if  he  had  nothing 
else  to  do  but  cut  his  fingers,  and  if  he  did  it  again 
she  would  punish  him. 

A  good  deal  of  talking  by  everybody  and  much 
wondering  by  every  one  whether  Deborah  would  be 
set  aside  from  her  meeting  or  not.  If  she  should 
what  an  awful  thing  that  would  be.  But,  if  she  was, 
she  could  be  taken  back,  and  very  likely  she  would 
have  a  good  influence  over  the  old  sea-captain. 

Olive  Manning  made  a  quilting-party,  inviting 
Deborah  and  all  the  women  in  the  neighborhood  to 
congratulate  the  would-be  bride,  but  she  was  too  well 
pleased. 

Weeks  passed  by,  and  it  was  generally  known 
that  she  was  to  be  married.  Elizabeth  was  busy 
sewing  and  a  dress-maker  was  sent  for.  Ann  was 
to  have  a  new  dress,  and  as  Deborah  was  no  hand  to 
cut  dresses,  she  was  obliged  to  hire. 

Her  dress  was  a  dark  red  Lyonese.  It  was  made 
just  a  little  shorter  than  usual,  just  above  the  tops  of 
her  shoes,  with  pantaletts  of  the  same  which  came 
down  over  the  tops  of  her  shoes.  The  sleeves  were 
made  leg  mutton  shape,  and  a  surplice  waist.  This 
dress  must  be  worn  to  Deborah's  wedding. 


l6o  THREE    HOLES    rN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

She  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen,  but 
knew  that  something  out  of  the  common  way  was 
going  on. 

One  morning  she  was  told  if  she  was  a  good  girl 
she  might  go  to  a  party  they  were  going  to  have 
there.  In  the  evening  quite  a  number  of  carriages 
arrived  and  the  house  was  all  lighted  up  and  looked 
very  cheerful  ;  and  soon  the  parlor,  which  was  sel- 
dom used,  had  a  fire  in  the  fanciful  stove,  which  had 
always  been  more  for  ornament  than  for  use. 

The  people  were  all  assembled  in  the  parlor  and 
Ann  was  in  the  sitting-room  looking  on  and  wonder- 
ing what  would  be  done  next,  when  Capt.  John 
came  into  the  room  where  Deborah  sat  (she  was 
dressed  in  a  fawn-color  twilled  silk  dress,  cap  and 
white  kerchief, )  and  taking  her  hand  said  to  her 
"  are  you  ready,  my  dear?  " 

"  Most  assuredly."  He  then  led  her  into  the 
parlor  where  the  Baptist  minister,  friend  Morey,  and 
friends  of  each  family  were  waiting. 

Elizabeth  led  Ann  into  the  room,  but  so  many 
grown  persons  stood  in  front  of  her,  and  not  know- 
ing what  it  all  me.int,  heard  the  ceremony,  but  did 
not  see  it. 

A  good  supper  was  enjoyed,  and  all  went  home  at 
quite  an  early  hour. 

Deborah  told  Ann  and  George  that  Capt.  John 
was  her  husband  now,  and  they  must  mind  him,  if 
they  didn't  she  would  punish  them  herself.  George 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  l6l 

tried  to  laugh  at  Ann  and  told  her  she  would  lose 
her  place. 

She  asked  him  what  he  meant.  "  Oh,  nothing,, 
only  you  had  rather  have  a  nice  little  room  like 
mine,  than  sleep  on  the  bricks  or  at  the  foot  of 
Deborah's  bed,  hadn't  you  ?  " 

Everything  seemed  to  undergo  a  change  this 
spring.  Deborah  had  her  choice  to  live  in  her  own 
house  or  to  move  into  Capt.  John's.  His  family 
consisted  of  a  son,  (at  home.  His  son  John  had 
gone  west,  and  George.  John  was  married  and 
lived  near  them.)  daughter  and  grandson,  about 
fourteen  years  of  age,  who  was  an  orphan. 

His  daughter  made  it  her  business  to  take  the 
very  best  of  care  of  her  father's  house,  but  if  Deb- 
orah liked,  she  could  go  and  stay  a  year,  and  then, 
if  she  chose,  could  move  back  to  her  own  house, 
So  arrangements  were  made  to  pack  up  all  she 
desired  to  carry  with  her,  and  the  place  left  in 
care  of  a  family  which  was  to  live  in  the  shop. 
But  what  shall  be  done  with  the  children  ?  Two 
boys  so  near  of  an  age  could  not  agree,  and  Capt. 
John  decided  not  to  find  a  place  for  George,  but  he 
should  be  carried  to  the  poor-house.  He  was  kept 
until  they  got  all  moved,  and  somewhat  settled  in 
Deborah's  new  home. 

She  called  George  to  her  one  day,  and  told  him 
to  pick  up  all  the  duds  belonging  to  him,  and  to  take 
his  largest  cotton  handkerchief  and  tie  them  up 
strong ;  and  the  hired  man  will  take  thee  to  a  place 


l62  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

where  thee  belongs.  "  I  don't  want  to  send  thee  to 
thy  Aunt  Lydia's,  for  she  has  more  than  she  can 
support;  but,  if  thee  is  ever  in  want  of  anything  to 
eat,  thee  come  to  me  and  I  will  feed  thee.  I  hope 
my  care  of  thee  will  be  as  bread  cast  upon  the 
waters.  Thee  must  read  in  thy  Testament  daily ; 
I  will  keep  Ann  until  she  is  eighteen,  and  thee  may 
come  and  see  her,  but  don't  thee  go  to  telling  any  of 
thy  lies  about  my  bringing  thee  up,  for  thee  knows, 
*'  spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child." 

George  felt  glad  of  a  change,  but  he  knew  he  had 
no  money,  as  he  had  used  what  little  had  been  given 
him,  and  he  had  not  clothes  enough  to  make  a  com- 
fortable change.  He  bade  Ann  good-bye,  and  told 
her  he  would  try  and  get  work  and  get  some  clothes, 
as  he  wanted  to  go  to  school,  "  the  same  as  Claw- 
ford  Martin  does." 

"  Oh,  Aunt  Phebe ! ?>  said  Nannie  Lare,  ''  here 
comes  cousin  George  May  ;  "  and,  sure  enough  it 
was.  The  poor-house  was  only  two  miles  from  this 
comfortable  home. 

"Well,  George,"  said  Lydia  May,  "how  are  you, 
and  how  is  Deborah  John  ;  I  saw  her  marriage  in  the 
Providence  Journal.  Perhaps  you  will  fare  better 
now,  and  her  husband  is  quite  well  off." 

"I  have  not  seen  the  old  tyrant  for  two 
weeks.  She  sent  me  to  a  place  '  where  I  belonged' 
she  said,  and  I  didn't  know  it  was  the  poor-house 
until  the  man  there  said,  '  I  used  to  know  your 
father  and  mother!  Do  your  folks  know  that  you 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  163 

are  at  the  poor-house  ? '  He  told  me  my  father  had 
lots  of  cousins  by  the  name  of  Whipple,  and  that  I 
was  too  smart  a  boy  to  be  a  town  pauper.  I  asked 
Mr.  Jones  if  I  might  come  and  see  you,  and  he  said, 
'yes;  and  see  if  I  could  get  a  place  to  work  '  At 
any  rate,  I  will  not  stay  there  to  be  called  a  pauper." 

Lydia  sat  down  and  wrote  a  note  to  Mr.  Jones 
and  gave  it  to  George,  and  told  him  to  stay  until  he 
was  rested,  and  then  go  back  and  then  she  thought 
they  would  be  glad  to  give  him  his  bundle  and  let 
him  go ;  and  then  to  come  there,  and  she  thought 
he  might  get  a  place  near.  He  then  told  this  kind 
aunt  how  it  happened  he  was  sent  to  the  poor- 
house. 

It  is  strange  Deborah  should  turn  the  boy  out 
without  a  change  of  comfortable  clothes  ;  no  trunk, 
and  not  a  cent  of  money  ;  yet  it  may  be  for  the 
best  for  perhaps  Captain  John  might  have  been  a 
hard  master  and  mercy  knows  the  boy  has  suffered 
enough  now,  if  I  am  not  mistaken. 

The  next  day  brought  George  and  his  bundle. 
He  stayed  with  his  aunt  a  few  days  and  then  found 
himself  a  place  at  Samuel  Weatherhead's.  He  had 
to  work  hard,  but  no  knocks  or  thumps.  They 
treated  him  kindly— excepting  one  Arnold  who  was 
cross  to  him  at  times. 

He  could  go  to  school  part  of  the  time,  and  he 
could  see  his  sister  Sarah  often  and,  also,  his  cousin 
Nannie  who  was  very  kind  to  him  and  tried  to  make 
him  happy,  She  was  always  telling  the  children 


164  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

how  to  behave.  "You  must  sit  this  way,''  or  you 
must  sit  that  way  ;  and  "  you  must  do  this,'1  or  that, 
which  she  said  so  pleasantly  that  it  seemed  a  pleas- 
ure to  obey  her. 

George  would  often  say,  "  I  do  wish  I  could  get 
Ann  a  place  ;  but  now  the  old  thing  is  married  per- 
haps she  will  not  have  such  chance  to  cut  up  as  she 
has  done.  I  will  wait  until  I  get  some  new  clothes, 
and  then  I  will  go  and  see  my  other  sister,"  he 
would  tell  Sarah.  George  had  visited  his  aunt 
only  once  while  at  Deborah's,  so  really  they  were 
not  very  well  acquainted,  but  she  was  so  kind  he 
soon  felt  at  home. 

His  uncle  Henry's  wife  was  very  good  to  mend 
the  boys'  clothes  when  they  came,  and  William  and 
Arnold  May  were  kind  boys,  and  as  Sarah  grew 
older  they  enjoyed  her  childish  prattle. 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  they  had  heard 
from  Benjamin  May  and  the  little  fellow  Jonathan. 

Will  and  James  had  worked  here  and  there  where 
they  could  make  the  best  pay.  James  had  been  to 
school  more  than  Will  ;  as  he,  being  older,  could 
earn  more,  and  was  more  determined  to  have  an 
education  than  Will.  Now  and  then  they  went  to 
Newport  to  visit  their  mother's  sisters. 

George  felt  sure  that  he  could  see  his  older 
brothers,  for  they  never  neglected  coming  to  see 
their  relatives  in  Cumberland.  George  was,  how- 
ever, a  little  surprised,  when,  one  morning,  he  was 
called  from  his  work,  to  see  two  nice-looking  young 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  1 6 

fellows,  and  with  a  hearty  shake  of  hands,  the  three 
brothers  once  more  met  to  talk  over  their  where- 
abouts and  make  plans   for  the    future.     They   all 
thought  and  declared  that  it  was  too  bad  for  their 
sister  Ann  to  be  left  there  with  that  old  woman,  and 
plagued  to  death  ;  but,  as  none  of  them  had  homes 
of  their  own,  she  must  stay  there  a  little  longer  and 
soon  she  would  be  large  enough  to  earn  something 
herself.      Willie   amused   them   by   relating   to   his 
brother  George  how  he  managed  to  get  to  Newport 
the  first   time.     He  took   his    clothes,  and,  putting 
them  in  a  box,  tied  it  to  his  sled.     He  walked  ten 
miles   or   more   to    Providence.      He   was   looking 
around  the  wharves,  and  seeing  some  boys  busy,  he 
found  that  a  hogshead  of  molasses  had  burst  open. 
He  procured  a  pail  and  saved  enough  to  make  some 
candy   while    staying   with   an    aunt,    thus    earning 
eighty-five  cents  by  making  candy  and  selling  it  in 
Providence.     He  paid  his  fare  to  Bristol.     He  was 
then  fifteen  miles  from  his  aunt's  home  in  Newport, 
so  the  stage  driver  carried  his  box,  but  he  walked 
the  distance.     He  let  himself  for  a  year  to  a  farmer 
named  Joseph  Bateman,  whose  family   treated   the 
poor  boy  very  kindly.     He  then  desired  to  be  with 
his  brothers  ;  so,  at  the  expiration  of  one  year,  he 
returned  to  his  friends  near  Providence. 


l66  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER   IX. 

"  WELL,  Cousin  Amy,  what  do  you  think  of  aunt 
Deborah's  getting  married, "asked  Phebe  Barker,  as 
they  sat  at  the  table  of  Olive  Manning  some  weeks 
after  Deborah's  marriage. 

"  Think  of  it,  Phebe  !  I  never  thought  she  would 
marry  the  best  man  living,  she  has  had  her  own  way 
so  long.  I  wondered  what  on  earth  he  was  over 
there  to  buy  a  cow  of  her  for.  Its  my  opinion 
if  he  is  saucy  to  her,  she'll  be  saucy  to  him,  and  if 
he  is  not  a  downright  coward,  he  will  put  a  stop  to 
her  treating  that  child  so.  Don't  thee  think  so, 
Olive  ?  " 

Olive  seldom  spoke  her  mind  about  it,  but  most 
sincerely  hoped  that  Ann  May  might  fare  better,  and 
rejoiced  that  George  had  been  sent  away  ;  and,  in 
her  own  way,  answered  her  question  by  repeating 
her  thoughts  in  rhyme,  which  she  often  did.  Said 
.Plive  : 

In  farmer's  lane  there  lived  a  dame 

Whose  name  is  known  full  well ; 
She  has  taught  school,  learned  many  a  fool 
To  work,  to  read  and  spell. 

Four  little  ones  this  scold  surrounds 

In  torment  all  the  while ; 
Some  whip,  some  starved,  some  cuffed,  some  ducked, 

And  put  in  durance  vile. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  167 

One  of  the  four  doth  suffer  more 

Than  all  the  other  three, 
And  still  he  tries,  with  all  his  might, 

Her  servant  for  to  be. 

Old  Father  John  has  just  appeared 

To  take  her  for  his  wife ; 
We  hope  she  will  more  pleasant  be,  — 

Add  comfort  to  his  life. 

This  little  slave  is  now  set  free  — 

What  glorious  news  indeed  ! 
How  can  we  thank  old  Father  John 

For  such  a  humane  deed  ? 

How  Capt.  John's  family  would  treat  them  she 
did  not  know,  at  least  she  hoped  for  the  best.  After 
Deborah-John  had  got  moved  and  settled  down  in  her 
new  home  she  seemed  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret ; 
with  Daniel-John,  -a  man  grown,  calling  her  mother, 
and  Mary-John  paying  her  every  attention,  and 
Clawford  Martin  running  around  the  house  after  his 
grandma,  and  Capt.  John  with  his  "  well,  wife,  shall 
we  go  to  this  place  or  to  that  place  ;  and  shall  we 
have  this  or  that,"  and  always  in  the  most  agreeable 
manner.  Up  stairs  in  this  great  old-fashioned  house 
lived  the  doctor  of  Lime  Rock,  T.  D.  Humes  :  he 
had  married  Capt.  John's  daughter,  Hannah,  a  very 
lovely  lady,  with  none  of  the  distant  ways  of  Mary- 
John  towards  those  not  so  highly  favored  as  herself. 

Ann  was  delighted  when  she  found  that  there  was 
a  little  baby  up  stairs  and  one  morning  Aunt  Han- 
nah, as  she  called  the  doctor's  wife,  sent  for  her  to 
come  up  and  see  the  little  Elizabeth.  The  baby  lay 


l68  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

in  the  father's  arms  sucking  her  fist.  "  What  do  you 
think  of  this  little  girl  ?  "  said  the  doctor  ;  "  how 
would  you  like  to  take  care  of  her  all  the  time  ? " 
She  told  him  she  had  a  little  baby  sister  once  just 
like  that  one  and  a  mother,  too,  but  she  was  in 
Heaven  ;  and  the  baby  had  got  big  enough  to  play 
and  have  dolls,  and  she  could  braid  straw  for  play, 
too.  The  doctor  spoke  kindly  to  Ann  and  told  her 
she  could  come  up  and  see  the  baby  any  time  Aunt 
Deborah  would  let  her  ;  then  she  kissed  the  baby 
and  went  down  stairs  to  her  knitting. 

Deborah  told  all  the  members  of  the  family  that 
they  must  make  Ann  mind,  and,  to  call  upon  her 
to  wait  on  them  just  as  often  as  they  pleased  ;  andj 
if  she  did  not  behave  to  tell  her,  and  she  would  set- 
tle with  her;  also,  that  she  would  knit  all  the  men's 
stockings,  and,  that  she  believed  it  best  to  "  train  up 
a  child  in  the  way  it  should  go."  She  had  scripture 
reading  every  morning,  and  took  her  place  as  mis- 
tress of  the  house.  She  felt  compassion  for  the 
motherless  girl,  and  grandson  of  her  husband,  who, 
in  return  showed  her  every  attention.  Every  one  in 
any  way  connected  with  his  family  were  to  her  of 
royal  blood  ;  and,  instead  of  Ann's  having  an  easier 
time,  there  seemed  to  be  no  end  of  the  running  to  be 
done. 

When  Deborah  punished  Ann,  she  would  take  her 
alone;  and  if  she  boxed  her  ears,  Mary  would  say, 
"she  deserves  it,  no  doubt.  Mother  is  kind  to  us, 
and  she  gives  Ann  a  home.  Ann  is  really  quite  a 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  169 

chatterbox,  and  is  handy  to  have  round  the  house." 
William  Foote  married  Capt.  John's  daughter, 
Caroline.  They  lived  in  Providence,  and  had  a  little 
girl,  Carrie,  a  very  delicate  child,  and  she  would 
come  out  to  her  grandpa's  and  stay  a  few  days. 
She  would  beg  of  her  grandma  to  let  Ann  come  and 
see  her,  and  she  mustn't  bring  her  knitting,  as  she 
says  "  it  makes  her  tired." 

The  doctor's  wife  and  Mrs.  Foote  were  not  long 
in  finding  out  that  Ann  May  was  not  treated  as  their 
children  were,  by  their  step-mother,  yet  they  said 
nothing,  and  always  treated  Ann  with  the  greatest 
kindness. 

The  home  of  Capt.  John  was  not  so  pleasantly 
situated  as  Deborah's.  The  house  was  twice  as 
large,  and  filled  with  old-fashioned  furniture,  some 
nice  old  china  and  silver  ware,  one  pretty  pitcher, 
which  was  presented  to  him  by  the  Agricultural  So- 
ciety as  a  premium,  and  of  which  they  were  very 
proud.  It  took  a  long  time  for  Deborah  to  get 
accustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  John  household,  their 
ways  being  somewhat  different  from  her  plain  mode 
of  living.  She  also  missed  her  old  home.  She  went 
over  to  her  house,  now  shut  up,  and  felt  almost 
guilty  at  leaving  the  old  home  her  father  had  left 
her,  and  charged  Neighbor  Battey,  who  lived  in  the 
shop,  to  be  very  watchful  of  affairs  around  the  farm, 
for  very  likely  she  would  be  back  the  coming  spring. 
Her  own  relatives  did  not  visit  her  quite  as  often 
as  when  she  was  at  her  own  house,  and  she  missed 


1 70  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

them.  She  could  not  govern  Ann  and  train  her  as 
strictly  ;  there  seemed  to  be  no  good  time  to  enforce 
the  ducking  process,  for  some  one  would  be  sure  to- 
come  in  and  catch  her  at  it.  If  she  set  Ann  to 
knitting,  some  one  would  say,  "  ain't  you  tired,  little 
girl?"  or,  " go  and  do  something  else." 

Ann  was  bewitched  after  the  baby,  and  the  doc- 
tor's wife  found  many  chances  for  her  to  sit  beside 
the  cradle  and  watch  the  little  girl. 

The  doctor  always  wore  glasses  and  Ann  aske<i 
him  what  made  him  wear  them  all  the  time.  He 
very  pleasantly  told  her  that  when  he  was  a  little 
boy  his  mother  said,  "  Thomas,  won't  you  hand  me 
those  scissors  ?  "  he  hurried  to  mind  her  ;  and,  start- 
ing on  a  run,  he  tripped  himself  on  a  mat  and  stuck 
the  point  of  the  scissors  in  his  eye,  putting  it  outr 
and  he  could  never  see  with  it  again.  He  told  Ann 
to  be  careful  and  never  allow  children  to  run  with 
scissors  in  their  hands.  Ann  never  forgot  the  kind 
doctor's  story,  or  the  reason  he  wore  glasses. 

Ann  was  not  afraid  of  Aunt  Hannah,  and  she 
went  to  her  for  answers  to  all  questions  she  wanted 
to  ask.  She  wanted  to  know  what  her  soul  was,  and 
what  was  her  "  think  ? "  She  gave  her  a  very  com- 
prehensive answer,  and  Ann  always  remembered  it. 
"My  dear  child,"  she  said,  "it  is  the  part  within  us 
that  never  dies."  Ann  was  satisfied.  She  also  told 
her  that  the  body  dies  and  is  laid  in  the  ground,  but 
the  soul  would  live  forever.  Ann  had  read  the 
Bible  every  day  for  two  years,  but  did  not  compre- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  1 7! 

hend  much  love  in  it  as  she  was  compelled  to  com- 
mit much  of  it  to  memory  for  punishment ;  beside, 
she  had  never  had  it  explained  any.  The  John  family 
went  to  the  little  meeting-house  on  the  corner  of  the 
road,  next  their  door-yard.  They  would  let  Ann  go 
sometimes.  Capt.  John  went  with  his  wife  and 
hopes  were  entertained  that  he  would  sometime 
unite  with  the  Friends.  The  sea-faring  life  had 
made  him  used  to  all  sorts  of  company,  yet  he  had 
never  disgraced  his  calling  or  his  family  name.  The 
vessels  he  had  commanded  were  merchantmen 
owned  by  Brown  &  Ives,  of  Providence.  The 
Brown's  were  some  family  connection,  and  when 
Moses  and  Nicholas  Brown,  of  University  fame, 
died,  Capt.  John's  family  went  as  mourners. 

Capt.  John  was  a  strong-minded,  political  man  ; 
an  old-fashioned  whig,  and  not  an  abolitionist.  He 
was  willing  his  wife  should  do  anything  and  every- 
thing she  saw  fit.  She  was  an  excellent  calculator 
and  he  had  great  respect  for  her  judgment.  Her 
cares  in  the  house  were  so  great  that  she  had  no 
time  for  out-door  work,  and  Capt.  John,  as  a  usual 
thing,  did  about  as  he  pleased  with  his  own  farm. 

Ann  had  to  bring  in  wood,  run  errands,  knit,  and, 
if  possible,  go  up  stairs  and  help  the  doctor's  wife  ; 
she  was  glad  of  a  chance  to  help  iron  some  of  the 
baby's  clothes.  Ann  missed  her  brother  George 
very  much  and  used  to  wonder  if  he  would  ever  get 
money  enough  to  come  and  see  her  ;  and  she  cried 


172  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

as  she  thought  of  her  loneliness  with  so  many  people 
around  her. 

Clawfbrd  Martin  was  a  very  quiet  boy,  seldom 
speaking  to  her  and  never  in  anyway  trying  to  make 
her  lot  easier,  but  if  possible  made  her  wait  on  him, 
yet  was  never  unkind.  He  didn't  like  work,  and 
usually  managed  to  get  along  without  exerting  him- 
self. He  went  to  school  since  he  was  old  enough. 
He  dearly  loved  his  aunt  Mary  and  uncle  Daniel ; 
and,  although  an  orphan,  he  seldom  felt  the  loss  of 
his  parents,  so  tenderly  was  he  treated  ;  and  now,  to 
have  a  grandma  to  care  for  him,  his  life  was  really 
one  of  ease  and  happiness  and  this  made  him  child- 
ish. He  knew  very  well  that  Ann  was  never  allowed 
currants  with  sugar  or  any  such  luxury,  but  he  would 
tell  her  to  go  out  and  pick  him  a  saucerful  and  she 
might  have  all  he  left.  She  would  do  so,  and  the 
boy  would  hand  her  back  the  empty  saucer  to  put 
away. 

Deborah's  work  was  by  no  means  easy  at  her  new 
home.  She  made  herself  a  slave  to  work.  All  the 
men's  stockings  must  be  knit,  and  Capt.  John  wore 
his  above  his  knee,  and  seamed,  at  that.  They 
wore  linen  in  the  summer,  and  Ann  must  sit  hour 
after  hour,  and  clay  after  day,  doing  this  thankless 
work  too.  She  often  wished  that  the  old  tall  clock  with 
the  moon  with  a  man's  face  in  it  would  stop  ;  but 
"tick,  tick,"  went  the  faithful  old  timepiece,  and  the 
second-hand  sixty  times  so  awful  quick  !  and  yet 
her  stent  would  not  be  done,  and  at  night  the  bunch 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  173 

of  sticks  would  be  ready  in  the  old  back  chamber 
over  the  sink-room  where  she  slept  alone  from  the 
rest  of  the  family,  and  often  had  to  go  without  her 
supper.  Deborah  would  say,  "  Ann  has  had  all  the 
supper  she  needs  ;  I  never  allow  her  to  eat  much 
before  going  to  bed,  as  she  is  growing.  But  Ann 
got  many  a  good  bite  at  the  doctor's.  When  she 
was  very  hungry  she  would  snatch  something  from 
the  pantry,  but  nearly  always  a  crust  or  crumb  would 
be  seen  or  it  would  be  missed  and  then  she  would 
have  to  pay  dearly  for  her  audacity. 

Mary-John  felt  quite  relieved  as  she  had  had  the 
care  of  her  father's  house  since  the  death  of  her 
mother.  Her  brother  Daniel  was  clerk  at  Lime 
Rock.  And  now  Deborah  assumed  the  care  of 
Capt.  John  and  family  which  was  not  a  situation 
many  would  envy,  but  she  was  equal  to  the  task, 
and,  with  sleeves  rolled  up  and  a  firm  will,  she 
worked  and  made  things  lively  for  all  with  her. 

Capt.  John  had  the  rheumatism  very  often,  so  that 
Ann  would  have  to  heat  irons  hot,  and  Deborah 
would  have  to  iron  his  shoulder  until  she  was  tired, 
no  doubt ;  but  she  was  so  thankful  she  was  permitted 
to  wait  upon  the  old  man,  it  was  such  a  comfort  to 
her ;  and,  certainly,  no  one  had  any  objections. 

Mary  could  go  and  come  whenever  she  pleased. 
She  went  to  Providence  to  see  her  sister,  and  Friend 
Elizabeth  came  and  made  Deborah  a  visit.  Olive 
Manning  came  and  brought  Emma,  as  she  had  been 
quite  lonesome  not  to  see  Ann  at  all.  Susan  and 


174  THREE    HOLES    IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

Desire  Willard  came  to  meeting  sometimes  and  they 
would  stop  and  speak  to  Ann.  She  took  Emma  out 
to  the  large  old  barn  to  see  the  cows,  pigs,  hens,  and 
horses.  She  told  Emma  that  there  was  a  dear  little 
baby  upstairs,  and  they  could  go  up  from  the  out- 
side ;  and  so  they  went  and  made  such  a  noise  that 
they  waked  the  baby  up  ;  but  she  was  good-natured 
and  the  little  girls  were  allowed  to  hold  her  as  long 
as  they  wished. 

Deborah  and  her  niece  had  gone  to  call  on  Aunt 
Hepsabeth,  the  blind  old  lady  who  lived  near  there, 
and  as  usual  were  given  some  of  those  nice  balls  of 
thread  which  this  good  old  patient  friend  so  much 
delighted  to  wind  and  give  away.  When  they  re- 
turned they  went  up  stairs,  as  Olive  never  had  seen 
the  doctor's  baby.  They  found  Emma  holding  the 
"little  tot,"  as  they  called  it,  and  said  to  her  mother, 
"  If  I  could  only  have  such  a  baby  as  this  to  play 
with !  "  Ann  said  to  Emma  that  sometimes  she 
cried  nights,  for  she  could  hear  her,  and  it  would 
not  be  so  very  funny  to  take  care  of  her  all  of  the 
time. 

It  was  now  time  for  Olive  to  go  home,  so  old 
black  Peter  was  soon  on  his  way  and  Ann  was  knit- 
ting away  for  dear  life  to  make  up  for  lost  time. 
Deborah  had  promised  Ann  that,  after  she  had  fin- 
ished those  long  stockings  of  Capt.  John's  she  was 
knitting,  she  might  go  to  Emma's  and  spend  the  after- 
noon and  carry  her  own  work  ;  and  now  that  she 
had  been  to  see  her,  it  made  her  more  anxious  to  go 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  175 

and  visit,  if  for  only  a  few  hours,  where  she  felt  she 
could  do  just  as  she  pleased  and  not  be  watched. 
In  a  few  days,  she  saw  Job  Manning's  team  go  past. 
She  thought  if  she  could  only  get  ready  so  as  to  ride 
back  with  them,  she  could  stay  nearly  all  day,  and 
she  could  walk  back  well  enough.  She  asked  Deb- 
orah, and  she  said  "  no."  Capt.  John  said  "  why  don't 
you  let  her  go,  wife  ?  I  am  sick  of  seeing  those  knit- 
ting-needles going  all  the  time."  To  Ann's  delight, 
she  got  ready  for  the  visit.  "  Now  thee  take  thy 
work  and  thee  finish  this  stocking  of  father's.  There 
is  no  need  of  romping  all  over  the  farm  as  thee  did 
the  other  day ;  and  if  thee  does  not  get  thy  stent 
done,  remember  the  settlement  that  will  surely  follow. 

Thee  put  on  thy  calf  skin  shoes,  but  thee  don't 
need  any  stockings.  Thee  needn't  stop  to  Susan 
Willard's  ;  but,  if  thee  sees  any  of  them,  inquire  the 
price  of  eggs,  and  ask  Amy  and  Phebe  if  they  are 
coming  over  here  to  stay  awhile  this  summer." 

Old  Peter  was" coming,  so  tying  on  her  calico  sun- 
bonnet  and  taking  her  work-bag  with  Capt.  John's 
stocking  to  finish,  she  went  out  and  begged  a  ride. 
Happy  and  free  the  little  girl  felt,  but  she  must  not 
forget  the  two  errands  :  when  she  got  as  far  as  Wil- 
lard's barn,  she  remembered  she  must  ask  the  price 
of  eggs.  Prelett  Fuller,  the  hired  man,  stood  in  the 
barn-door,  and,  as  there  was  a  gate  to  be  opened 
she  got  out  to  open  it  ;  she  inquired  of  the  man  the 
price  of  eggs,  as  Aunt  Deborah  wanted  to  know. 


176  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"  I  dunno,  they  were  forty  cents  last  winter  :  they 
are  a  little  cheaper  now,  I  guess.  How  is  the  old 
woman,  now  she  is  married,  any  better  natered  ?  " 

But  Ann  did  not  stop  to  reply.  They  had  got  as 
far  as  Susan  Willard's  house  and  stopped  a  moment, 
as  she  came  out.  Ann  said  to  her,  "what  is  the 
price  of  eggs,  now?  Aunt  Deborah  wants  to  know." 

"  They  have  been  as  much  as  thirty  or  forty  cents, 
but  they  ain't  as  much  now ;  they  are  awful  cheap, 
and  it  dont  pay  to  sell  'em,  hardly.  How  do  you 
like  living  over  to  Lime  Rock,  Ann  ?  I  s'pose  Deb- 
orah is  pretty  clever  now,  she  thinks  she  has  married 
into  the  royal  family.  Won't  you  come  in  Ann?" 

"  No,  I  thank  you  ;  Aunt  Deborah  told  me  not  to 
go  in,  but  inquire  the  price  of  eggs.  What  shall  I 
tell  her?" 

"You  tell  her  if  she  carries  'em  to  Vose's,  in  Man- 
ville,  she  can  get  two  cents  more  a  dozen  than  she 
can  at  Albion.'' 

Two  more  gates,  and  here  are  Olive  and  Emma 
waiting. 

"I  thought  thee  was  going  to  stay  all  day,  cousin 
Job,"  said  Amy.  "  For  mercy  sake,  Ann,  how  thee 
has  grown  !  how  did  it  come  about  that  thee  could 
come  ?  I  guess  Emma  is  pleased  enough.  Did 
thee  bring  thy  work  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  brought  Capt.  John's  stocking  to  fin- 
ish, as  I  did  not  get  it  done  last  week  :  I  must  finish 
it  to-day  anyway." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  177 

"  For  mercy  sake,  dost  thou  call  that  a  stocking  ? 
a  yard  long!  " 

"Yes,  he  has  them  come  up  above  his  knees." 

"  Well,  I  should  think  it  would  take  a  body's  nat- 
eral  life  to  knit  them." 

"  Yes,  it  does,"  said  Ann. 

"  And  seamed  all  the  way  down  to  the  toe." 

"They  have  got  lots  of  yarn  made,  and  I  have  to 
knit  for  Clawford  Martin  and  Daniel ;  and  Aunt 
Deborah  told  George  John  she  could  have  him  some 
knit  as  well  as  not,  and  the  doctor's,  too  ;  but  Aunt 
Hannah  said  she  could  knit  them  herself.  Aunt 
Caroline  Foote  wants  some  for  Carrie's  father." 

"  Any  more  ?  "  said  Amy  ;  "  if  she  has  got  to  work 
for  all  creation,  I  don't  see  how  much  better  off 
she  is ;  making  stockings  for  that  old  man,  and  all 
his  relations  to  see  to." 

"  Now,  cousin  Phebe,  take  my  advice  ;  don't  thee 
marry  the  best  man  thee  ever  saw.  There  is  Aunt 
Deborah's  house  all  shut  up,  and  everything  going 
to  rack  and  ruin,  and  she  trapesing  over  there  and 
working  herself  to  death.  But  no  matter,  she  will 
be  back  before  long,  with  the  old  man  and  all  of  his 
relations.'' 

"  Aunt  Deborah  wanted  me  to  inquire  if  you  and 
Phebe  Barker  were  not  coming  to  see  her  this  sum- 
mer. Hannah  Appleton  and  Elizabeth  are  there 
now  on  a  visit.  Mary  John  has  gone  away,  and 
Clawford  Martin  is  awav  to  school  at  Fruithill." 


178  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"  I  wish  you  would  go,"  Aunt  Amy,  "  it  ain't  near 
so  pleasant  as  over  to  Aunt  Deborah's  house,  and 
there  is  no  end  to  the  work." 

"  Next  week,  all  of  George  John's  family  are 
coming  to  spend  the  day,  and  Chloe  John's  sister 
Adeline  Sprague,  from  Cumberland,  is  coming,  too. 
And,  when  Mary  John  comes  home,  Carrie  Foote  is 
coming  with  her,  and  Edward  Martin  is  coming 
from  Texas." 

"  Little  Willie  Foote  died  not  long  ago,"  said 
Olive." 

"Yes,"  said  Ann  ;  "  Carrie  told  me  she  had  a  lit- 
tle brother  Willie;  and  that  he  had  gone  to  Heaven 
to  live,  and  that  he  was  an  angel  singing  around  the 
throne  of  God  ;  and  she  said  that  she  did  not  feel 
well,  and  perhaps  she  might  die  and  be  a  bright 
angel  just  like  Willie.  Her  papa  and  mamma  would 
cry  when  they  talked  about  him  and  say,  '  we  do 
hope  Carrie  will  be  spared  to  us.  but  she  looks  very 
pale  and  delicate.' ': 

"  I  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  Phebe  ;  "  you  never 
will  get  your  stocking  shaped  right,  if  you  did  not 
bring  a  measuring  stocking." 

"Sure  enough  !  I  don't  know  how  long  to  make  it 
before  I  narrow;  I  forgot  all  about  that ;  if  I  get  it 
done,  and  it  is  wrong,  I  will  have  it  all  to  take  out 
and  do  over  again,  and  get  punished  besides ;  and 
if  I  don't  get  it  done  I  will  be  punished." 

"  Here  comes  Susan  and  Desire  \Villard.  Now, 
girls,  you  may  go  out  in  the  yard  and  play,  and  take 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  179 

a  run  in  the  pasture  and  see  the  lambs,"  said  Olive. 
"  I  will  write  a  note  to  Aunt  Deborah  about  thy 
work,  and  if  she  whips  thee,  bear  it  patiently  ;  she 
doubtless  thinks  she  is  doing  right.  We  are  all 
liable  to  err." 

So  out  they  went ;  first  to  the  corn-house  where 
the  girls  were  weighed  by  one  of  the  boys,  and 
watched  them  shell  corn  with  the  corn-sheller ;  then 
looking  in  the  hen-house,  then  up  the  steps  to  the 
shop  and  carriage-house  ;  they  found  some  butter- 
nuts and  cracked  them,  and  their  tongues  run  as  if 
they  never  expected  to  meet  again. 

Here  was  Emma's  little  closet  of  broken  dishes, 
and  they  played  keep  house.  They  found  some  old 
spokes  of  wheels  and  had  them  for  children  ;  under 
the  bench  was  some  shavings,  and  there  they  put  their 
baby  to  bed.  Ann  knew  just  how  they  fixed  babies, 
for  she  had  seen  them  take  care  of  little  Elizabeth. 
"  There,  pat  its  back,  so,  and  lay  it  over  on  its  stom- 
ach," and  over  went  the  wooden  baby.  The  girls 
laughed  so  hard  to  see  Ann  manoeuvre,  that  the  two 
boys  thought  Ann  was  cutting  up,  and  for  quite 
a  while  stood  watching  the  girls  without  their  know- 
ing it ;  but  not  wanting  to  tease  them  they  finally 
went  about  their  work. 

The  baby  suddenly  grew  to  be  quite  a  girl,  so  Ann 
set  it  to  knitting  ;  and  it  had  to  be  ducked,  and 
slapped,  and  scolded  at,  and  shut  up  in  dark-holes, 
and  sent  to  bed  without  any  supper.  Ann  took  saw- 
dust, and,  stirring  it  up  made  believe  it  was  cayenne 


l8o  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

pepper.  The  girls  really  pitied  the  piece  of  wood 
before  Ann  got  through  playing  her  little  girl  was 
naughty ;  but  Ann  said,  '  spare  the  rod  and  spoil 
the  child,'  Solomon  says." 

"Who  was  Solomon  ? '   said  Desire. 

•'  He  was  a  man  who  lived  a  great  while  ago  and 
it  tells  about  him  in  the  Bible.  His  father's  name 
was  David  and  he  had  a  brother  Absalom  and  his 
hair  was  long.  Riding  under  a  tree  one  day  he 
caught  his  hair  in  one  of  the  limbs'  and  his  horse 
went  away  and  left  him,  and  they  found  him  hanging 
there  ;  so  you  see  if  he  had  had  his  hair  cut  as  he 
ought  to,  he  would  not  have  been  killed.  There,  now 
if  you  will  sit  down  on  this  pile  of  shavings  I  will 
tell  you  just  what  aunt  Hannah  Humes  told  me. 
She  ain't  cross,  and  I  asked  her  one  day  what  the 
soul  is,  and  what  do  you  think  she  said  ?  That  it  is 
the  part  within  us  that  never  dies.  A  verse  in  the 
Bible  says,  'the  soul  that  sinneth,  it  shall  die,'  and 
what  does  that  mean  ?  I  know  she  won't  tell  a  lie. 
I  had  to  get  a  whole  chapter  by  heart  the  other  day, 
and  one  verse  said,  '  What  shall  it  profit  a  man  if  he 
gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul  ?  or, 

O 

what  shall  a  man  give  in  exchange  for  his  soul  ?  ' 
How  can  anybody  lose  it  if  it  never  dies  ?  There 
is  my  mother  in  the  graveyard,  and  yet  I  know  she 
is  in  heaven,  happy  and  free,  and  sometimes  I  wish 
I  were  there  too.  Not  in  the  ground,  but  up  high. 
I  guess  I  should  like  to  go  as  Elijah  did,  in  a  car- 
riage, but  I  would  be  afraid  of  the  fire.  Now,  girls. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  l8l 

you  talk.  I  have  talked  all  the  time.  Mary  John 
said  the  first  time  I  saw  her,  '  Well,  little  girl,  I' 
guess  you  are  a  little  chatterbox,'  and  aunt  Deborah 
made  me  go  and  sit  on  the  stairs  and  go  to  knitting. 
She  said  little  girls  should  be  seen  and  not  heard. 
I  forgot  to  tell  you  what  aunt  Hannah  said  was  meant 
by  John's  baptizing.  She  said  it  was  dipping  them 
in  water.  I  asked  if  she  had  been,  and  she  said 
yes,  and  so  had  Mary  John.  Then  I  told  her  I  had 
been,  and  she  laughed  and  said,  whan  were  you 
baptized  ? 

"  Perhaps  I  wasn't,  but  aunt  Deborah  has  ducked 
my  head  in  water  ever  since  I  can  remember  for  not 
getting  my  stent  done,  and*  for  being  a  naughty 
girl." 

"  It  don't  mean  that  way,  at  all,"  she  said.  "  A 
minister  tips  them  backward  into  the  water." 

"Yes,"  I  said,  "Aunt  Deborah  took  Captain 
John's  bathing  tub,  a  great,  long  tin  one,  long  enough 
for  me  lo  lay  down  in,  and  had  it  filled  with  water 
and  made  me  get  in  and  lay  down  on  my  back.  I 
was  afraid  to,  and  she  pushed  me  down  under  the 
water,  and  when  she  pulled  me  up  I  didn't  know 
nothing."  Aunt  Hannah  asked  me  what  she  done 
that  for.  I  told  her  I  did  not  get  my  stent  done  on 
Daniel's  stockings  and  I  told  her  I  wished  a)l  the 
men  had  to  go  barefoot.  So  I  don't  know  whether 
I've  been  baptized  or  not,  as  aunt  Deborah  sits  in 
a  higher  seat  than  Joseph  Smith,  and  he  is  a 
minister." 


l82  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

Olive  had  heard  nothing  from  the  girls,  so  she 
went  out  with  some  cookies  in  her  hand  and  said, 
"  Come,  girls,  I  will  go  with  you  to  see  the  lambs, 
and  then  Ann  must  rest,  for  if  she  walks  home  she 
will  be  tired."  So  they  all  went  up  to  the  barn  and 
through  a  lot  where  they  could  see  the  sheep.  They 
then  sat  down  and  watched  them. 

"  My  sheep,  hear  my  voice,"  said  Ann.  "That 
was  in  a  verse  I  read  the  other  day  ;  and  Captain 
John  read  a  verse  that  said  there  were  ninety  and 
nine  and  went  to  find  the  other  one.  Emma,  does 
your  father  call  the  sheep  ?  " 

Emma  said  yes,  and^  that  one  old  sheep  would 
start  and  all  the  rest  would  come. 

There  was  one  little  sick  lamb,  and  Olive  put  it 
in  her  apron  and  carried  it  into  the  house  and  said 
she  would  have  to  take  care  of  it  or  it  would  die.  It 
was  a  little  black  one.  Olive  said  she  had  let  aunt 
Deborah  have  some  wool  the  season  before,  and  she 
had  got  it  made  into  rolls  and  then  she  spun  and 
twisted  it  for  stockings. 

Olive  made  cloth,  and  so  did  Susan  Willard's 
mother,  and  colored  it  butternut  color  ;  then  made 
whole  suits  from  it  for  the  men  folks  to  wear.  She 
made  nice  coverlets  and  blankets,  and  there  was  no 
end  to  the  warm  clothing  Mrs.  Willard  made  for  her 
family. 

Ann  began  to  think  of  going  home  and  what  she 
would  tell  Aunt  Deborah  she  had  been  doing.  She  had 
been  playing  most  of  the  time;  she  had  got  the 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  183 

price  of  eggs  and  Amy  and  Phebe  would  come  if 
they  had  the  opportunity.  She  had  torn  quite  a 
place  in  her  dark  calico  apron,  but  Phebe  said 
pound  calico  was  always  rotten  and  hardly  pays  for 
making  up. 

Ann  went  and  looked  into  the  basket  and  spoke 
to  the  lamb.  She  said,  "  the  Bible  says  feed  my 
lambs  ;  it  did  hear  my  voice,  for  it  looked  up  !  " 

Olive  gave  Ann  the  note  and  said,  "  I  sincerely 
hope  thee  will  not  see  any  trouble  as  regards  thy 
knitting;  "I  don't  see  how  thee  could  have  done 
otherwise." 

Susan  and  Desire  would  go  with  Ann  as  far  as  the 
main  road,  and  then  it  would  be  a  long,  lonesome 
way.  Job  Manning  had  gone  to  Woonsocket  with  old 
Peter,  or  they  would  have  carried  her  home.  She 
got  along  very  well  until  she  got  about  half  of  her 
journey  completed,  when  a  team  came  along  with 
two  men  who  were  so  intoxicated  they  could  hardly 
keep  in  the  wagon. 

"  Hello,  little  girl ;  tell  us  the  way  to  cake  and 
beer  house,  will  yer?  " 

She  tried  to  tell  them  it  was  on  that  road  some- 
where beyond  Judge  Manning's  tavern,  but  did  not 
know  how  to  make  them  understand.  One  of  them 
tried  to  get  out  and  fell.  Ann  was  now  thoroughly 
frightened ;  but,  looking  back,  she  saw  a  man  driv- 
ing quite  fast.  As  he  came  up  to  them  he  stopped 


184  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

and  said,  "  little  girl,  where  do  you  live,  and  where 
are  you  going?  " 

Ann  told  him  she  lived  at  Deborah  Gill's  and  had 
been  to  Job  Manning's  and  was  going  to  Capt. 
John's. 

"  You  mean  you  live  with  Deborah  John  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  her  name  was  Gill  before  she  got  mar- 
ried." 

"  Do  you  want  to  ride  ?  I  am  going  right  past 
your  door." 

So  Ann  was  very  glad  to  ride  with  the  kind  man. 
His  hair  was  quite  gray,  but  he  did  not  look  old. 

When  they  reached  the  gate,  Capt.  John  stood 
there  evidently  watching  for  some  one. 

"I  found  this  little  girl  not  from  Follett's.  I 
should  think  it  very  unsafe  for  her  to  be  out  on  this 
road  at  this  hour." 

"  So  I  thought ;  she  ought  to  have  started  before," 
said  Capt.  John. 

Ann  said  "thank  you  "  as  she  hopped  out  of  the 
buggy  ;  but  her  dress  caught  on  the  step,  and  tore  a 
great  piece  out.  She  went  into  the  house  with  the 
piece  hanging. 

Aunt  Deborah  came  to  her  and  wanted  to  know 
how  she  happened  to  trouble  Samuel  B.  Harris,  of 
Lime  Rock,  to  bring  her  home.  Ann  tried  to  tell 
her,  and  gave  her  the  note  from  Olive. 

"What,  not  got  that  stocking  done  ?  and  did  not 
carry  the  measuring  stocking  ?  All  day  wasted!  I 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  185 

knew  it  would  be  just  like  thee,  thou  good-for- 
nothing  trollop  !  I  will  settle  with  thee.  Now,  see 
if  thee  did  thy  errands.  Did  thee  ask  Susan  Wi!- 
lard  what  she  gets  for  eggs  now  ?  " 

"  I  asked  Prellett,  and  he  said  they  were  forty 
cents  last  winter.  Susan  said  you  could  get  two 
cents  more  a  dozen  at  Vose's  than  you  can  at  Al- 
bion. She  said  they  had  been  from  twenty  to  thirty 
cents,  but  Desire  said  they  got  sugar  and  spices, 
molasses,  tea  and  groceries,—" 

"Stop!  Thee  has  said  enough.  Thee  never 
asked  anything  about  it,  and  I  shall  whip  thee  for 
lying."  • 

In  vain  Ann  told  her  the  truth  ;  but  she  knew  it 
was  of  no  use,  so  she  kept  thinking  "  Well,  I  had  a 
nice  time,  and  the  ash-hole  ain't  here,  anyway.  I 
told  her  just  as  it  was,  and  she  won't  believe  me. 
She  says  that  liars  will  have  their  portion  in  the  lake 
that  burns  with  brimstone  and  with  fire.  I  ain't 
afraid  of  brimstone  but  I  would  be  of  fire.'' 

Capt.  John  came  in  and  asked  Ann  where  Sam 
Harris  found  her,  and  told  her  sine  was  lucky  to  get 
a  ride,  as  it  was  too  long  a  walk,  and  not  to  go  again 
until  she  could  ride  both  ways. 

Deborah  came  in  and  brought  a  handful  of  shin- 
gles and  threw  them  in  the  woodbox.  They  had 
been  shingling  one  of  the  old  buildings.  Ann  no- 
ticed that  one  or  two  looked  like  new  shingles,  and 


l86  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

wondered  that  she  should  burn  them.    Deborah  went 
around  the  house,  saying 

"  For  liars  we  can  never  trust, 

Tho'  they  should  speak  the  thing  that's  true  ; 
And  he  who  does  one  fault  at  first, 

And  lies  to  hide  it,  makes  it  two.'' 

"  But,"  said  Ann,  "  I  did  not  tell  a  lie.  I  told  you 
just  what  they  said  to  me." 

"  Well,  no  matter  ;  thee  tore  thy  frock  and  thy 
apron  and  thee  loitered  away  thy  time.  I  will  learn 
thee  to  be  careful  and  get  thy  stent  done  next  time. 
'  Train  up  a  child  in^he  way  he  should  go  ; '  it  may 
be  like  bread  cast  upon  the  waters.  Now,  thee  go 
and  fill  up  the  wood-box  ;  step  quick,  thee  lazy  trol- 
lop! Then  thee  wash  the  dishes  there  in  the  sink, 
and  go  out  and  bring  in  the  milk  pans  and  churn, 
and  put  them  where  they  belong.  Then  bring 
me  father's  stocking  and  let  me  see  whatthee's  been 
about." 

Ann  took  her  work-bag  and  took  out  the  stocking, 
when,  true  as  the  world,  one  of  the  needles  was 
gone.  How  or  when  it  had  been  lost  she  did  not 
know.  Then  came  the  question,  "What  has  thee 
done  with  the  needle  ?  "  Ann  was  sure  it  was  in 
when  she  put  her  work  in  the  bag. 

"  Very  likely  thee  lost  it  getting  into  the  wagon. 
Another  time  thee'll  walk.  Thee  go  to  thy  room 
when  thee  gets  thy  chores  done  and  we'll  see  who 
will  be  mistress  here.'' 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  187 

Ann  dreaded  the  sticks,  but  she  abhorred  the 
water.  The  dark  holes  were  not  there,  but  the  pep- 
per was.  Which  aunt  Deborah  would  do  now  she 
did  not  know,  and  she  felt  her  heart  sink  within  her 
at  the  prospect  before  her.  "  By  thy  stripes  are  we 
healed,"  she  had  read  in  the  Bible,  but  she  did  not 
comprehend  its  meaning.  At  any  rate,  somebody 
had  been  whipped  who  had  not  deserved  it.  She 
had  also  read  that  Paul,  a  good  man,  had  been  shut 
up  in  prison  and  had  been  whipped  ;  and  Stephen, 
also  a  good  man,  was  stoned  to  death.  But  no  lit- 
tle girl  who  had  no  mother  had  she  ever  heard  of 
being  abused  this  way.  She  had  John  Rogers' 
primer  with  a  picture  of  him  tied  to  a  stake  and 
burned  to  death,  just  because  he  was  good.  "  Thee 
make  haste ;  get  thy  chores  done  and  see  if  thee  can 
finish  this  stocking.  Thee  should  narrow  once  in 
eight  stitches." 

"  Amy  told  me  she  should  think  it  would  be  seven 
on  such  a  hoof  as  that. 

"A  what?" 

'•  Such.a  hoof  ;  I  guess  she  meant  foot,  but  she 
said  hoof." 

'!  That  sounds  like  her,"  said  Deborah.  "  I  don't 
think  it  is  any  larger  than  her  husband's  ;  her  foot  is 
not  very  small,  dost  thee  think  it  is,  Elizabeth  ?  " 

"  Judging  from  the  size  of  Amy's,  I  am  assured 
she  must  inherit  it  either  from  father  or  mother. 
My  sister  could  wear  number  sevens  with  ease  and 
so  can  I,  thee  knows,"  said  Deborah. 


l88  THREE    HOLES    IN'    THE    CHLMNEY, 

Captain  John  stepping  in  just  then,  inquired  the 
subject  which  was  so  interesting  and  Deborah  told 
him  the  last  part  of  it. 

"I  guess  Ann  would  like  it  as  well,  wife,  if  your 
foot  could  be  encased  in  a  shoe  of  smaller  dimen- 
sions." 

"There,  father,  don't  criticise  ;  I  only  wish  it  was 
twice  as  large  for  her  good.  I  have  worn  calf  skin 
slippers  O£  low  shoes  ever  since  I  have  had  small 
children  under  my  charge.  I  find  them  very  con- 
venient ;  I  can  raise  a  blister  with  one  if  I  like." 

Ann  is  through  with  her  chores,  and  gets  her  work 
and  tries  to  do  it,  but  of  course  cannot  until  she  gets 
another  needle.  She  asks,  for  one.  and  the  very 
thought  of  what  an  awful  thing  Ann  had  done 
enrages  Deborah,  and  she  tells  Ann  to  put  up  her 
work  and  go  to  bed.  She  put  up  her  work,  and  with 
a  heavy  heart  did  she  creep  along  up  the  back 
stairs,  across  the  kitchen  chamber  to  her  own  little 
back  bed-room  over  the  sink-room,  on  the  north-east 
side  of  this  great  house.  As  she  never  carried  a 
candle,  she  had  to  feel  her  way  along ;  but  she  is 
used  to  it,  and  finds  her  way  to  the  little  low,  post 
bedstead,  and  there  lies  down  and  cries.  She 
dreads  to  undress  and  go  to  bed,  as  she  knows  that 
before  Deborah  goes  to  bed  she  will  come  up  and 
do  something  ;  but  what,  she  has  not  the  least  idea. 
She  gets  up  and  puts  her  hand  on  the  sticks  —  they 
are  there  in  their  accustomed  place. 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  189 

She  goes  to  the  box  which  contains  all  the  little 
articles  she  holds  so  dear ;  taking  out  the  gauze 
handkerchief  which  was  her  mother's,  she  unfolds 
it  and  puts  it  around  her  neck,  tying  it  up  as  closely 
as  possible  to  her  troubled  heart ;  she  opens  the 
little  box  which  her  brother  Will  gave  her;  the 
money  is  there  and  taking  it  to  the  window,  she  sees 
the  glass  shine  ;  untying  the  handkerchief  an  kiss- 
ing it,  she  proceeds  to  fold  it  up,  but  just  at  that 
moment  the  door  of  the  room  was  unlatched,  and 
softly  Deborah  walked  in  holding  a  candle.  She 
shut  the  door  carefully  and  put  the  cand!e  on  the 
floor,  as  there  was  no  table  in  the  room  ;  then,  tak- 
ing Ann  by  the  arm  with  an  awful  grip  she  said, 
"didn't  I  send  thee  to  bed?  and  what  hast  thou  got 
these  trinkets  paraded  out  here  for?  Thee  put  up 
thy  duds  and  undress  thyself;  we'll  see  who  will  be 
mistress  here." 

She  snatched  the  little  handkerchief  which  was 
all  spotted  and  wet  with  tears  which  Ann  had  shed 
for  her  dear  mother,  when  sjie  felt  troubled  ;  for 
next  to  her  mother's  memory  she  loved  this  gauze 
trifle.  Deborah  threw  it  on  the  floor,  and  then  stood 
with  arms  akimbo  —  the  very  evil  one  himself 
seemed  to  dwell  in  her  eyes.  It  was  only  the  work 
of  a  moment  for  Ann  to  get  ready  for  bed.  She 
could  see  that  Deborah  held  some  shingles  in  her 
left  hand.  She  told  Ann  to  hold  out  her  left  hand, 
which  she  did  ;  she  took  a  new  shingle  and  struck 
some  blows,  first  on  one  hand,  then  on  the  other. 


1 90  THREE    HOLES    IN    A    CHIMNEY, 

Ann  screamed  with  pain,  and  begged  Deborah  to 
forgive  her  this  time  and  she  would  never  be  naughty 
again.  But  she  had  not  yet  commenced'her  Satanic 
work  ;  she  held  her  by  the  ankle  and  whipped  the 
sole  of  her  foot  until  Ann  "thought  her  head  would 
burst ;  after  whipping  one  foot,  she  did  the  same  to 
the  other.  She  turned  Ann  over  on  her  face  so  the 
bed-clothes  would  smother  her  cries  ;  but  the  hired 
man,  who  had  not  yet  come  in  the  house,  heard  her 
screams  from  her  room,  but  found  no  one  to  tell 
what  he  had  heard,  so  went  up  to  bed,  and  met 
Deborah  just  coming  down.  He  told  her  that  he 
had  heard  awful  screams  from  Ann's  room,  and 
Deborah  said,  "  Yes,  I  did  !  I  have  taken  care  of 
her;  if  she  cries,  thee  let  me  know  in  the  morning. 
I'll  see  if  I'll  have  my  family  disturbed  by  her  noise." 

After  Deborah  had  whipped  Ann  to  her  heart's 
content,  she  said  to  her,  "There!  now  we'll  see 
who  will  be  mistress  here.  Not  a  word  out  of  thy 
mouth  !  and,  if  I  hear  thee  making  any  fuss,  I  will 
do  likewise  every  night."  Going  out,  she  shut  the 
door  and  left  Ann  to  suffer  more,  probably,  than 
ever  before  in  all  her  life. 

In  the  morning  Ann  could  not  shut  her  hands  or 
step  on  either  foot  She  had  slept  but  very  little, 
and  when  it  was  time  for  her  to  get  up,  she  found 
she  could  not  step,  so  laid  down  and  dropped  off  into 
a  weary,  tired  nap. 

Deborah  did  just  what  she  had  done  before  when 
Ann  overslept  ;  she  went  to  the  water-pail  which  the 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  19! 

man  had  just  filled  from  the  well,  and  taking  the  two- 
quart  dipper,  filled  it  with  water.  She  took  off  her 
slippers  and  went  quietly  upstairs  where  Ann  lay 
asleep,  and,  throwing  the  dipper  of  water  in  her  face 
said,  "  there  !  thee  take  that,  thou  lazy  little  trollop.'' 
After  Ann  had  recovered  from  her  sudden  fright, 
she  told  Deborah  that  she  could  not  step ;  she 
showed  her  her  hands  and  her  feet.  Deborah  could 
not  hide  from  Ann  her  look  of  horror,  when  she  saw 
how  awfully  Ann's  feet  and  hands  were  blistered  ; 
but  she  told  her  it  served  her  light,  and  the  next 
time  she  would  fare  worse.  She  then  told  her  to  get 
up,  and  she  did  try,  but  her  feet  were  terribly  swol- 
len, and  when  she  tried  to  step  she  cried  out  with 
pain  —  her  hands  were  quite  as  bad.  Deborah  told 
Ann  to  keep  still  and  she  would  bring  up  some  balm 
of  gilead  and  bathe  her  feet  and  hands  in  that ;  and 
perhaps  the  next  time  she  went  anywhere  she  would 
do  her  errands  better,  and  would  not  be  riding  home 
with  a  strange  man.  She  must  find  her  knitting- 
needle  and  darn  the  torn  places  in  her  apron  and 
dress. 

"  I  will,"  said  Ann,  "  when  my  hands  get  well. 
Phebe  said  that  pound  calico  is  rotten  and  tears 
easy." 

Deborah  said,  "  Phebe  don't  know  anything  about 
it  ;  she  never  had  any.  Did  thee  tell  Amy  I  wanted 
her  to  come  and  help  me  this  fall." 

"  You  didn't  tell  me  to  ask  her  that." 


192  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"  Yes,  I  did !  thee  shall  have  a  dose  of  thorough- 
wort  to  pay  for  that.  Here  is  thy  Testament ;  thee 
find  the  chapter  that  begins  with  the  words  :  '  Then 
drew  near  unto  him  all  the  publicans  and  sinners 
for  to  hear  him  ; '  and  thee  get  the  whole  of  that 
chapter,  and  thee  lay  here  and  study  it." 

Deborah  went  down  stairs  and  made  a  strong 
bowl  of  thoroughwort  tea,  and  carried  it  to  Ann  and 
forced  her  to  take  it,  but  not  a  mouthful  did  she  offer 
her  to  eat. 

Capt.  John  picked  up  the  lost  needle  and  brought 
it  in  ;  he  had  found  it  where  Ann  got  out  of  the 
buggy  the  night  before. 

Inquiries  were  made  for  Ann,  but  Deborah  told 
them  she  had  trapsed  around  so  much  the  day  before 
that  she  could  hardly  get  around,  and  she  was  getting 
her  lesson  up  in  her  room. 

Ann  looked  around  the  room  and  saw  her  mother's 
handkerchief  on  the  floor,  and  her  little  box  as  she 
had  left  it  the  night  before.  She  was  all  day  getting 
her  Bible  lesson  ;  occasionally,  Deborah  would  come 
up  and  make  her  bathe  her  hands  and  feet,  and  hear 
her  recite  as  far  as  she  had  got  perfect.  At  noon  she 
brought  up  some  crust  of  brown  bread,  and  some 
milk  which  was  not  sweet.  But  Ann  did  not  hes- 
itate to  eat  it  as  it  was  not  that  bitter  stuff  of  the 
morning. 

For  days  Ann's  feet  were  so  sore  that  she  could 
scarcely  step,  but  Deborah  was  very  careful  to  keep 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  193 

her  knitting,  so  the  family  never  knew  what  Sally 
May's  little  Ann  —  that  she  loved  so  well,  had  been 
through. 

In  spite  of  herself,  Ann  would  sit  and  cry  and  sob, 
and  the  tears  ran  down  her  little  red  cheeks,  and 
every  day  seemed  harder  to  bear. 

When  Ann  could  walk,  Deborah  sent  her  out  to 
find  the  lost  needle.  She  looked  and  looked,  until 
Capt.  John  asked  her  what  she  was  trying  to  find. 

She  told  him  she  was  not  to  have  anything  to  eat 
until  she  found  the  lost  needle. 

He  told  her  to  go  into  the  house  and  tell  "  wife  " 
he  had  handed  her  the  needle  a  week  ago. 

So  she  did,  and  Capt.  John  went  in  about  the 
same  time. 

"  I  handed  you,  wife,  the  needle  over  a  week  ago  ; 
don't  you  remember?" 

"  Yes,  but  thee  needn't  meddle,  father  ;  I  want  to 
learn  this  good-for-nothing  girl  not  to  lose  needles. 
I  won't  have  it,  so  there  !  Thee  go  now  and  do  thy 
work,  and  don't  thee  complain  to  father  again  or  it 
will  be  the  worse  for  thee,  I  can  tell  thee." 


194  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER   X. 

Things  somewhat  changed  the  next  week  or  two. 
Mary  John  came  home  from  her  visit,  and  brought 
her  little  niece,  Carrie  Foote.  Elizabeth  Rathburn 
packed  her  band-box  and  went  to  visit  some  friends 
in  Coventry. 

"  Well,  Maty,"  said  Capt.  John,  "  how  did  you 
find  all  your  friends  ?  Did  you  go  to  Ann  Pratt's, 
and  is  Mary  Rhodes  married  to  that  Smith  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  married  and  keeping  house  in  North 
Providence.  He  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father,  but 
they  seem  very  fond  of  each  other.  Mary  does  not 
know  the  first  thing  about  housekeeping  ;  she  cooks 
entirely  from  books,  of  which  she  has  quite  a  library. 
Aunt  Mary  wants  you  and  mother  to  come  in  next 
week  and  bring  Ann  May  with  you;  she  has  heard 
Carrie  speak  of  the  little  girl  who  lives  here  so  often. 
She  has  lovely  flowers,  and  the  box  in  their  front 
yard  is  lovely,  even  if  it  is  old-fashioned  ever- 
green ;  I  always  liked  to  see  it  growing.  I  went  to 
see  cousin  Ann  Pratt,  and  found  her  very  anxious 
about  Peter.  Dr.  Parsons  says  he  has  consumption. 
They  want  he  should  go  to  Cuba,  as  cousin 
William  John  lives  there,  and  it  is  possible  he  will 
try  and  go  there  before  long.  Henry  and  Sophia 


OR  A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  195 

Barnes  were  there  ;  they  go  in  to  visit  Leonard  and 
Anna  quite  often,  nearly  every  week.  You  know 
sister  Caroline  lives  not  far  from  cousin  Ann's,  and 
quite  near  to  Friends' School.  The  view  is  delight- 
ful ;  one  can  see  all  over  the  city  from  their  home." 

"Is  William  to  be  in  Allen's  counting-room  this 
year,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"Yes,  he  will  be  there  this  year.  His  brother 
John  is  still  at  Lonsdale,  in  the  counting-room." 

"Well,  Mary,"  said  Daniel,  "you  are  quite  newsy, 
seems  to  me  ;  but  women  have  a  way  of  learning 
everything  and  then  telling  it  to  everybody  else." 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  for  Peter  Pratt ;  he  is  one  of 
the  smartest  and  best  lawyers  to  be  found  in  this 
state,  and  if  Ann  loses  him  it  will  be  fearful  ;  but  we 
won't  anticipate  evil,  but  hope  for  the  best,"  said 
Capt.  John. 

"The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away," 
said  Deborah. 

Mary  John  was  no  shirk  ;  if  her  stepmother 
worked  hard,  so  did  she.  But  there  was  so  much  to 
be  done  !  They  made  butter,  and  cheese,  and  can- 
dles, and  soft-soap,  and  spun  yarn  ;  but,  even  then, 
Deborah  felt  sorry  she  could  not  make  loom  har- 
nesses for  the  Albion  company.  The  agent  and  his 
wife  had  called  to  see  if  she  could  not  possibly  do 
just  a  few  ;  she  had  the  courage  to  say  "no,"  but, 
perhaps  another  year  she  might  be  so  situated,  that 
she  would  oblige  Friend  Brown.  Friend  Irvin,  of 
Manville,  was  very  sorry  she  could  not  make  what 


196  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

few  they  used  in  their  small  mill ;  but  Ann  was  glad 
to  have  a  rest  from  the  laborious  task.  Carrie  and 
Ann  would  have  some  nice  times  in  spite  of  Deb- 
orah's watchfulness,  and  they  would  cut  up  the  out- 
side stairs  to  see  the  little  Elizabeth.  All  declared 
she  was  just  the  nicest  little  girl  they  ever  saw. 

Carrie  teased  her  new  grandma  every'  day  to  let 
Ann  go  home  with  her.  She  said  her  mother  said 
she  might  come  and  stay  a  week,  and  she  might 
help  her  do  the  dishes,  and  it  would  learn  Ann  so 
much.  They  would  go  all  through  the  Arcade  and 
see  all  the  nice  stores  ;  and,  really,  she  would  not 
take  no  for  an  answer.  So  it  was  finally  decided 
that  Capt.  John  should  take  Deborah  to  see  his  sis- 
ter Mary,  while  he  went  to  Providence  to  his  daugh- 
ter Caroline's  and  left  the  two  girls. 

His  sister  had  been  an  invalid  for  some  years,  and 
her  friends  always  took  great  pains  to  visit  her,  and 
please  her  in  every  way  as  she  was  a  very  lovely 
person. 

Ann,  of  course,  could  not  be  dressed  like  Carrie 
Foote  and  Ann  John,  but  she  could  go  clean  and 
whole.  The  girls  were  accustomed  to  seeing  Ann 
dressed  in  quite  long  calico  dresses  with  a  little 
handkerchief  pinned  round  her  neck,  and  calfskin 
shoes.  Aunt  Hannah  had  given  her  a  long  comb. 
She  had  a  piece  of  blue  ribbon  given  her  for  her 
hair,  but  Deborah  would  not  let  her  wear  it  as  it 
would  make  her  vain.  So  it  was  kept  with  Ann's 
other  precious  articles,  and,  when  she  got  the  chance, 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  197 

she  would  tie  it  round  her  head  and  look  in  the  little 
glass  in  the  cover  of  the  box  which  her  brother  Will 
gave  her;  but  she  never  allowed  herself  to  be 
caught  with  it  on.  , 

Ann  was  not  to  take  knitting  with  her  but  she  must 
work  for  Aunt  Caroline  all  the  time  ;  and,  if  she  did 
not  behave,  when  she  got  home  she  would  have  a 
settlement.  For  Deborah  said,  "give  her  an  inch 
and  she  will  take  an  ell." 

Ann  had  to  darn  up  the  tear  in  her  apron,  and 
the  place  in  her  dress  which  was  quite  a  task  ;  but 
she  did  it  the  best  she  could,  and  thought,  "  pound 
calico  is  real  rotten,  because  Phebe  and  Amy  said 
so."  Aunt  Deborah  said  the  poor  slaves  didn't 
have  even  that  to  wear,  and  Ann  was  glad  that  she 
was  not  a  slave. 

The  kind-hearted  Lydia  Haynes  had  come  to 
make  a  short  visit  and  see  her  aunt's  new  home. 

Lydia  said  to  Ann,  "  Thee  go  into  Providence  and 
stay  just  as  long  as  thee  can,  and  don't  let  me  see 
thee  for  a  month.  The  world  will  jog  along  just 
as  fast  and  we  shall  live-just  as  long  if  thee  don't 
knit  anymore  for  a  week.  If  not,  let  them  go  bare- 
foot— serve  them  right !  " 

"  Has  this  girl  got  to  carry  her  knitting  ?  "  said 
Lydia  to  Deborah  ;  she  won't  get  it  right,  if  she  does. 
Do  let  the  girl  rest." 

"  She  is  going  to  work  for  Caroline,  and  if  I  hear 
of  her  being  idle  I  will  settle  with  her  when  she 
gets  home,"  said  Deborah. 


198  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

Ann  was  not  troubled  with  carrying  many  changes 
cf  clothing.  She  wore  the  red  dress  she  had  made 
to  wear  at  Deborah's  wedding,  and  carried  the  dress 
and  long  sack  apron  she  had  mended. 

The  day  arrived  for  them  to  go,  and  after  kissing 
the  little  Elizabeth,  Carrie  bid  them  all  good-bye. 
As  Ann  stepped  into  the  carriage,  Lydia  Haynes 
came  to  the  door  and  tossing  an  old  shoe  after  them 
said,  "  That  is  good  luck  for  thee,  Ann." 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  become  of  Benjamin," 
said  Phebe  Jenks,  "  I  would  like  to  see  him  and 
brother  Samuel  before  I  die." 

"  O,  sister,"  said  Lydia,  "  I  am  in  hopes  the 
Providence  doctor  yvho  sister  Angell  sent  out  may  help 
you.  I  know  consumption  sometimes  terminates 
very  quickly,  but  you  are  really  more  comfortable 
to-day,  I  think." 

"  My  dear  sister,  I  shall  never  be  any  better.  I 
feel  confident  it  will  not  be  long  before  I  shall  be 
laid  away  in  yonder  graveyard,  there  to  await  the 
Resurrection  morn.  You  are  growing  old,  Lydia, 
and  these  two  girls  will  be  a  great  care  as  well  as  a 
great  comfort.  I  hope  they  will  care  for  you  in  your 
last  days,  which  will  in  a  measure  pay  you  for  your 
hours  of  toil.'' 

Phebe  Jenks  had  been  poorly  ever  since  the 
death  of  her  husband,  and  had  had  some  very  sick 
spells  ;  but  she  did  not  realize  that  she  was  fast  los- 
ing her  strength,  and  was  quite  surprised  when  old 
Dr.  Bucklin  told  her  she  had  not  long  to  stay.  She 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  199 

thought  of  Joshua,  when  he  was  told,  "  Set  thine 
house  in  order,  forthou  shalt  die  and  not  live." 

Nannie  Lare  fully  realized  that  her  dear  aunt 
Phebe  would  soon  be  called  from  earth  to  heaven, 
and  they  would  see  her  pleasant  face  no  more. 

Phebe  loved  her  Savior  with  all  her  heart, 
and  felt  that  "  He  doi:th  all  things  well."  A 
few  weeks  of  patient  suffering,  of  anxious  watching, 
and  Phebe  Jenks  fell  asleep  in  Jesus.  She  had  left 
this  quiet,  peaceful  home,  to  dwell  forever  with  her 
Lord.  And  now,  friends  were  to  be  notified.  Word 
was  sent  to  her  brother  Samuel  May,  at  Newton 
Upper  Falls,  but  where  were  Benjamin  and  all  his 
boys  ?  George  was  near  by  and  they  thought  his 
brothers  might  be  at  Attleboro,  and  so  they  were. 
One  of  the  neighbors  went  to  notify  Benjamin  May, 
if  he  could  be  found,  of  his  sister's  death.  They 
succeeded  in  finding  him  in  Thompson,  Conn.  He 
had  a  good  situation  with  a  Mr.  Moore,  a  nice  man, 
and  Jonathan  was  with  him  and  going  to  school,  and 
seemed  to  be  doing  well.  He  was  very  much 
affected  when  he  learned  that  his  youngest  sister 
was  gone,  and  felt  sorry  he  could  not  have  seen  her 
once  more,  but  he  could  not  be  persuaded  to  attend 
the  funeral.  He  said  Jonathan  might  go,  and  very 
likely  his  other  boys  would  be  there,  and  perhaps 
Ann  could  come.  All  of  them  would  appreciate  the 
privilege  of  meeting,  although  at  the  funeral  of  a 
much-loved  aunt. 


200  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

Lydia  May  was  very  glad  to  hear  from  her  absent 
brother  Benjamin,  and  knew  very  well  the  reason 
why  he  did  not  wish  to  come.  He  did  not  care  to 
meet  so  many  of  his  relatives.  He  knew  he  had 
not  done  right,  and  he  thought  they  all  knew  it.  As 
for  his  brother  Sam,  he  could  not  bear  the  thought 
of  seeing  him,  as  of  course,  he  knew  how  he  had 
neglected  his  family.  So  Jonathan  got  ready  and 
went  back  with  Mr.  Carpenter,  telling  his  father  he 
would  come  back  as  soon  as  he  had  made  a  visit 
with  his  sister. 

His  father  had  just  bought  him  a  new  suit  and  it 
was  fortunate  for  Jonathan  that  he  had,  as  he  could 
not  otherwise  have  gone.  For  with  all  Mr.  May's 
neglect,  he  had  a  good  share  of  pride  about  dress, 
and  was  also  careful  about  his  general  conversation, 
thanks  to  the  influence  of  his  good  mother  and 
sisters. 

When  Ann  and  Carrie  had  arrived  at  Providence, 
Carrie  was  perfectly  at  home  ;  but,  although  Ann  had 
been  at  Hiram  Gill's  to  dinner  several  times,  she 
had  never  been  around  at  all.  In  order  to  reach 
Carrie's  home,  the  nearest  way  led  them  up  a  hill 
where  nearly  all  the  inhabitants  were  colored.  Ann 
seeing  so  many  black  folks,  asked  if  they  were  not 
slaves. 

"  Law,  no,"  said  Carrie  ;  "  this  is  nigger  hill  ; 
everybody  knows  where  nigger  hill  is.  We  never  go 
through  the  street  only  when  with  grandpa.1' 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  2OI 

As  they  drove  up  to  Carrie's  home,  her  mother 
came  to  the  door,  and  could  hardly  wait  for  her  to 
alight.  She  caught  her  in  her  arms,  and  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  kissed  her  over  and  over  again. 

"  Kiss  Ann,  too,"  said  Carrie  ;  "  she  has  no 
mother  to  love  her,  you  know !  " 

"  Certainly  I  \yill,  dear ;  "  and  she  gave  Ann  the 
only  kiss  she  had  had  since — she  could  not  remem- 
ber when.  Ann  thought  it  was  nice  to  be  noticed, 
and  to  know  that  she  was  welcome. 

"  Well,  daughter,  I  have  brought  you  the  gals. 
Wife  thought  Ann  could  help  you  some  now,  as 
Mary  said  you  were  not  feeling  over  and  above 
smart." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did,  as  Carrie  thinks  so  much  of 
Ann  May.  All  I  hear  is,  'Ann  did  this  or  that:' 
I  shall  try  to  have  them  enjoy  themselves,  and  help 
me,  too." 

"We  took  dinner  at  aunt  Mary's,"  said  Carrie; 
"  and  such  lovely  flowers  !  Bridget  took  us  all  around 
and  showed  us  everything  she  could  think  of,  and 
then  we  went  over  to  cousin  Mary  Smith's.  She 
lives  quite  near  there,  and  her  house  sits  just  as 
close  to  the  street  as  it  can,  with  long  steps  leading 
to  the  front  door  ;  and,  mother,  she  had  such  beauti- 
ful plants,  and  everything  looks  so  new  and  fresh. 
She  was  studying  a  cook  book.  Nearly  opposite 
their  house  lay  a  man  dead  ;  he  is  to  be  buried  to- 
morrow. We  all  went  over  and  looked  at  him.  I 
wanted  to  see  him  because  I  had  never  seen  any- 


202  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

body  dead,  but  Ann  said  she  saw  John  Stuebin  after 
he  was  dead,  a  good  while  ago.  A  woman  was 
there  crying,  and  she  said  to  cousin  Mary,  "  my 
poor  Will  has  gone  to  Heaven  ;  he  will  suffer  no 
more,  thank  the  Lord!  he  died  rejoicing."  And 
then  we  went  back  to  aunt  Mary's,  and  cousin  said 
she  must  make  some  cake  for  the  funeral.  But  I 
know  I  shall  never  forget  how  that  man  looked  after 
he  had  gone  to  heaven." 

"  Now,  girls,  you  may  go  and  play  keep  house  or 
anything  else  you  choose,  and  to-morrow  you  may 
go  down  town  and  go  through  the  Arcade  ;  you  may 
each  of  you  buy  an  apron  and  see  how  nice  you  can 
make  them." 

Capt.  John  called  to  see  his  niece,  Mrs.  Pratt,  and 
inquire  after  her  husband,  whose  ill  health  gave 
them  all  so  much  anxiety.  Here  he  found  Mrs. 
Munroe,  whom  he  persuaded  to  go  home  with  him, 
so  Deborah  had  plenty  of  company. 

When  she  got  home  she  found  Eleanor  Holton 
and  little  Helen.  Deborah  was  very  glad  to  see 
them,  and  did  not  seem  to  care  for  any  extra  work 
they  might  make,  but  rather  liked  to  show  her 
friends  what  a  broad  swing  she  had  in  her  new  home. 
Lydia  didn't  know  whether  to  be  pleased  or  not 
with  Deborah's  getting  married. 

"The  house  is  as  big  as  a  bam,  and  the  kitchen 
is  as  big  as  thy  whole  house,''  she  said  to  Deborah 
one  morning  as  she  was  washing  up  the  floor.  "  But 
it  is  none  too  big  if  all  creation  is  coming.'1 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  2OJ 

"  Well,  Ann  ought  to  be  here  now  and  not  be  trape- 
sing off  so  much.  All  Sister  Rhodes  wanted  to  see 
her  for,  was  to  tell  her  what  a  lovely  com- 
plexion she  has,  and  how  straight  she  is,  and  what 
lovely  hair  she  has,  just  like  silk,  she  says.  I  really 
think  she  would  have  kissed  her  if  I  had  not  called 
her  to  get  my  shawl.  I  was  vexed  enough  when 
Anne  Jenkins  took  dinner  with  me  last  fifth  day, 
and  said  right  before  Ann,  "  what  an  intelligent- 
looking  child  thee  has  got,  Deborah  ; "  and,  calling 
Ann  to  her  she  said,  "thou  art  a  lovely  little  girl; 
come  and  sit  on  my  lap."  But  I  called  her  away  ; 
such  flattery  would  spoil  her.  I  couldn't  do  any- 
thing with  her  if  I  didn't  keep  her  under.  Thee 
may  take  thy  snuff  and  look  vexed,  Lydia,  but  I  tell 
thee  children  must  know  their  place,  and  I  am  deter- 
mined Ann  shall  know  hers,  if  she  lives  here  until 
she  is  twenty-one." 

"We  want  but  little  here  below,  nor  want  that  little 
long,"  said  Lydia  as  she  started  off.  She  felt  vexed 
at  Deborah  about  Ann  ;  but,  for  once,  thought  discre- 
tion the  better  part  of  valor.  Deborah  always 
came  out  first  best,  and  had  her  own  way.  Deborah 
would  often  say,  "  patience,  patience,  thou  art  a 
jewel,  and  above  all  jewels  thou  art  mine." 

Ann  had  not  been  gone  more  than  three  days, 
when  Mr.  Whipple  was  seen  driving  up  to  the  gate. 
Capt.  John  invited  him  in,  and  the  little  boy  who 
was  with  him. 


204  THREE   HOLES   IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

"  I  went  to  the  other  house,  where  Deborah  Gill 
used  to  live,"  said  he.  "  I  knew  she  had  moved 
here,  for  Nathan  Sprague's  daughter  told  us  so,  but 
I  had  forgotten  it.  My  errand  here  to-day,  is  to 
notify  Ann  May,  a  little  girl  who  lives  here,  I  believe, 
that  her  aunt,  Phebe  Jencks,  is  dead,  and  will  be 
buried  day  after  to-morrow  at  eleven  o'clock,  from 
the  old  May  homestead.  She,  you  know,  was  aunt 
to  the  child  you  have  with  you,  and  cousin  to  me." 

Lydia  and  Deborah  came  in,  and  seemed  quite 
surprised,  for  they  had  not  heard  of  Phebe's  sickness. 

"Wife,  this  is  Squire  Whipple's  son,  William/' 
said  Capt.  John. 

'•  His  mother,  was  sister  to  Benjamin  May's 
father." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I  remember  now,"  said  Deborah. 

"  And  this  boy  is  yours,  I  take  it,"  says  the  cap- 
tain. 

"  No,  this  is  Benjamin  May's  youngest  boy." 

"  And  what  is  your  name,  my  son  ? "  said  the 
captain. 

"  Jonathan  Carroll  May,"  said  he. 

"Named  after  his  grandfather.  Well,  if  you  make 
as  good  a  man  as  he  was  your  friends  will  be  proud 
of  you." 

Jonathan  did  not  know  what  it  meant,  for  such  a 
wise,  nice-looking,  old  gentleman  to  be  talking 
so  kindly  to  him.  Turning  round,  he  met  the  pleas- 
ant smile  cf  his  old  acquaintance,  Lydia. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  20$ 

"  Ah  !  thee  remembers  me  ;  how  thee  has  grown  !  " 

"  Where  is  my  sister  Ann  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  She  has  gone  to  Providence  on  a  visit,  but  will 
come  home  now,  for  a  woman  is  here  visiting  who 
is  going  home  to-morrow,  and  Capt.  John  will  carry 
her  to  Providence  and  bring  Ann  home.  I  declare, 
Jonathan,  thee  ought  to  have  been  a  girl  ;  such 
curls  I  never  saw  on  a  boy." 

"  My  sister  Sarah's  hair  is  prettier  than  mine  ; 
Nannie  just  combs  it  over  her  finger.  I  don't  like 
curly  hair.  The  boys  call  me  '  Sissy,'  sometimes." 

Lydia  inquired  after  his  father,  and  said  that  she 
hoped  he  would  have  a  good  home  some  time  ;  and 
perhaps  he  would  if  he  should  marry  again  and  turn 
over  a  new  leaf.  But  they  must  go  now,  and  Debo- 
rah made  some  inquiries  about  George  and  the  other 
boys. 

"  Rather  a  hard  thing  to  do,"  said  Mr.  Whipple, 
"  to  send  a  little  fellow  to  the  poor-house  without  let- 
ting any  of  his  folks  know  anything  about  it.  He 
might  have  come  to  my  house  or  to  Otis's.  He 
never  will  get  over  the  disgrace." 

"  Wife  did  not  think  about  his  being  connected 
with  'Squire  Whipple's  family  and  thought  that  would 
be  the  easiest  way  to  find  him  a  home.  We  have 
been  sorry  a  thousand  times  we  didn't  keep  the  boy, 
as  he  was  very  handy  on  the  farm.  My  grandson 
ain't  worth  a  row  of  pins  for  work,"  said  the  Cap- 
tain. 

"  He  is  all  for  books,"  said  Deborah. 


206  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNKY, 

"So  is  George,  give  him  a  chance,"  said  Lydia. 

After  they  had  gone,  Lydio.  said  to  Mary- John, 
"  It  is  awful  strange  that  there  ain't  no  place  for 
Ann  among  all  her  relations,  without  her  being 
obliged  to  stay  with  aunt  Deborah,  who  don't  know 
no  more  about  children's  feelin's  than  an  old  hen." 

"  Did  thee  say  thee  had  got  the  eggs,  Lydia,"  said 
Deborah,  just  coming  in. 

"  No,  I  didn't  say  anything  about  eggs. 

"  I  heard  tliee  say  hen." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  was  telling  Mary  that  thee  didn't  know 
any  more  about  seeing  to  children  than  an  old  set- 
ting hen." 

"  I  ought  to  ;  mother  of  five  children  and  all  mind 
me  without  a  word  of  trouble." 

"Lucky  for  them  they  had  their  wisdom  teeth  cut  be- 
fore they  became  acquainted  with  thee, "said  Lydia  ; 
"  don't  thee  think  so,  Deborah  ?  " 

"  Very  likely  ;  thee  have  thine  own  way  this  time  ; 
it  may  please  thee,"  said  Deborah. 

Carrie  and  Ann  were  delighted  with  the  idea  of 
going  shopping  all  alone,  and  Carrie  tried  to  make 
Ann  understand  how  it  could  be  possible  for  a 
building  to  be  large  enough  to  reach  from  one  street 
to  another  and  front  both  streets.  • 

"  You  are  to  sleep  in  the  parlor  bed-room,  girls," 
said  Carrie's  mother,  "  and  you  must  retire  early  as 
you  will  want  to  help  me  do  the  work,  you  know." 

"  Ann  mustn't  do  much,  because  she  is  company, 
and  she  mustn't  knit.  Her  hands  are  awful  sore, 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  207 

now,  she  has  knit  so  much.  If  I  was  her,  I  would 
want  every  man  to  go  barefoot,  or  learn  to  knit  his 
own  stockings,"  said  Carrie.  Do  you  say  your 
prayers,  Ann  ? " 

"  Which  one  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  there  was  more  than  one  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  there  is  lots  of  'em,'' said  Ann.  "I 
say  Agur's  prayer  sometimes." 

"  Agur,  who  is  he  ?  " 

"Oh,  he  was  a  man  who  didn't  want  to  be  poor 
for  fear  he  would  steal.v' 

"  Well,  you  say  that  one,  and  I  will  say  '  Our 
Father.'  " 

So  Ann  began  and  repeated  the  desire  of  Agur's 
heart;  "give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches;  feed 
me  with  food  convenient  for  me ;  lest  I  be  full  and 
deny  thee,  and  say,  who  is  the  Lord  f  or  lest  I  be 
poor,  and  steal,  and  take  the  name  of  my  God  in 
vain." 

Then  they  repeated  the  Lord's  prayer  together. 
Then,  Carrie  said,  "  I  never  heard  that  prayer  you 
said,  before  ;  where  did  you  learn  it?  " 

"  In  the  Bible  somewhere  ;  and  then  after  Solomon 
had  built  a  great,  nice  temple,  he  got  down  on  his 
knees  right  out-door.-,  and  prayed  that  if  the  folks 
didn't  do  as  they  ought  to,  that  God  would  turn 
them  toward  the  temple  again,  or  something.  I  have 
forgot  the  rest  of  it." 

"  You  had  better   go    to    sleep,  little    folks,"  said 


208  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

Carrie's  father  ;  "  you  won't  get  up  until  noon  to-mor- 
row." 

Morning  came,  and  the  rising  sun  found  the  girls 
up,  and  their  tongues  running  with  all  possible 
speed  ;  what  they  found  to  talk  about  was  a  mystery. 

"  What  are  those  large  houses  for,  across  the  lot?" 
asked  Ann,  pointing  out  the  east  window. 

"  That  is  Friends'  School." 

"  Is  it  ?  Aunt  Deborah  says  I  may  go  there  when 
I  get  old  enough,  and  have  her  brown  silk  dress 
made  over;  but  aunt  Lydia  Haynes  says,  "  that's  all 
in  thy  eye,  Ann  ;  don't  thee  be  deluded  by  castles  in 
the  air  and  then  thee  won't  be  disappointed." 

Ann  was  amused  to  see  Carrie's  mother  use  a 
range  in  a  fireplace  :  at  home  they  used  the  open 
fireplace,  and  tin  ovens,  and  iron  bake-pans,  with 
coals  of  fire  and  ashes  put  on  the  cover.  When 
aunt  Deborah  cooked  sausages,  she  had  a  tin  that 
had  hooks  on  it,  and  the  sausages  were  stuck  on 
the  hooks  and  set  before  the  fire,  with  a  little  tray 
to  catch  all  the  drippings.  Once  a  week  a  fire  was 
made  in  the  great  brick  oven  and  kept  burning  one 
hour,  and  then  swept  out  with  a  damp  broom  and 
filled  with  all  sorts  of  things  they  wanted  baked. 

"  I  liked  those  cakes  grandma  baked  on  a  board 
before  the  fire  ;  and  she  made  some  white-pot,  and 
boiled  it  over  the  fire  ;  it  tasted  like  custard,  but  it 
looked  more  like  soft-soap.  I  saw  grandma  make  soft- 
soap,  and  candles,  too,"  said  Carrie  ;  "and  she  took 
two  balls  of  yarn  and  twisted  them  together  on  a 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  209 

wheel ;  she  said  she  did  not  want  Ann  to  get  out  of 
work,  but,  Lydia  said,  on  Ann's  account,  she  wished 
there  wa'n't  any  yarn  in  creation.  I  see  her  take 
snuff,  too  ;  but  she  was  a  good  deal  more  clever 
to  Ann  than  grandma  was." 

The  giris  talked  and  worked,  and  watched  the 
clock  to  know  when  it  was  nine,  as  that  was  the 
time  agreed  upon  to  go  down  town. 

"  Here  is  some  money  your  father  left  for  you  and 
Ann  ;  now,  do  as  you  please  with  it,  only,  be  sure 
and  be  back  by  dinner-time,"  said  Mrs.  Foote. 

The  girls  were  dressed  so  different :  Carrie,  in  the 
most  approved  city  style  ;  and  Ann,  in  the  extreme 
country  fashion ;  yet  they  were  as  happy  as  happy 
could  be. 

"  If  my  brother  Willie  had  stayed  here,  he  would 
go  everywhere  with  me  ;  but  mother  says  he  is 
happy,  and  I  try  to  think  so  when  I  go  down  town 
alone,"  said  Carrie. 

"  I  have  got  a  brother  Willie,  too,  and  three  other 
brothers,  and  a  darling  sister,  prettier  than  any  pic- 
ture that  I  ever  saw  ;  but  I  can't  go  with  them 
anywhere." 

"  But,  here  we  are  !  this  is  the  Arcade  ;  here  is 
one  front  side,  on  Weybosset  street,  and  there 
is  the  other,  on  .Westminster  street,"  pointing 
through  the  large  open  space  in  the  middle  of  the 
Arcade.  First,  they  went  by  one  row  of  stores  on 
the  first  floor,  then  across  on  the  other  side,  looking 
at  everything  and  everybody,  and  everybody  looking 


210  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

at  them.  Some  smiled,  and  said,  "  what  taste,  to 
dress  a  child  that  way."  They  then  went  up  stairs 
at  the  end  of  the  building;  went  by  the  stores  on 
one  side  of  the  building,  crossed  over,  and  did  the 
same  on  the  other  side,  for  three  stories.  They 
would  stand  and  look  down  upon  the  people  on  the 
the  first  floor,  then  up  to  the  glass  windows  which 
formed  the  roof. 

The  girls  bought  their  aprons  just  alike,  bright 
pink.  Ann  bought  some  English  walnuts  ;  as  they 
were  so  large,  she  thought  they  must  be  more  profit- 
able than  peanuts. 

It  was  now  near  twelve  o'clock,  and  they  had 
dinner  at  one  ;  so  they  loitered  along,  Carrie  point- 
ing out  to  Ann  everything  she  thought  would  interest 
her. 

They  called  at  Zachariah  Allen's  office,  and 
waited  for  Mr.  Foote  to  go  to  his  dinner.  Ann  was 
as  happy  as  if  she  possessed  half  of  the  fine  things 
she  had  seen.  Before  night,  the  aprons  were  made, 
folded  up,  and  put  away. 

"You  can  hem  quite  nicely,"  said  Mrs.  Foote  to 
Ann  ;  ''  I  don't  see  when  you  learned." 

"You  know  Capt.  John  wears  nightcaps  with 
holes  cut  out  for  his  ears,  and  I  hem  the  holes,  the 
strings,  and  all  around  the  outside  ;  aunt  Mary  says 
I  do  them  good  enough,  but  aunt  Deborah  says  the 
stitches  look  like  mice  teeth,  and  I  guess  they  do. 
Lydia  says  a  man  has  no  business  to  wear  night- 
caps, and  make  so  much  foolish  work ;  an  old- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  211 

fashioned  bandanna  handkerchief  tied  around  his 
head,  was  good  enough  for  her  husband ;  but  then, 
he  wa'n't  bald-headed." 

When  the  girls  went  to  bed  they  were  very  tired, 
and  thought  that  the  next  day  they  would  play  keep 
house,  and  look  over  Carrie's  picture-books,  and 
have  a  nice  time  at  home. 

So,  the  next  day  Carrie  got  out  her  box  of  books  ; 
she  knew  Ann  hadn't  any  of  her  own,  excepting  a 
Testament  and  John  Rogers'  primer.  She  said  aunt 
Deborah  told  her  she  might  read  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

About  two  o'clock  they  heard  some  one  say, 
"  whoa,  Betsy !  "  and  both  ran  to  the  window  ;  and, 
sure  enough,  there  was  Capt.  John  hitching  old 
Betsy  to  the  fence. 

"  Now,  Carrie  ;  "  said  Ann,  "  I  am  afraid  I  have 
got  to  go  home." 

Carrie's  grandfather  took  out  of  his  wagon  a  can 
of  milk,  and  a  bag  filled  with  potatoes,  and  apples, 
and  other  things. 

"  Here,  Car'line !  "  said  her  father,  "  is  some 
milk,  and  in  the  bag  is  some  potatoes  and  things  ; 
wife  thought  they  would  come  handy,  'specially  as 
you  have  had  more  in  your  family  for  a  few  days, 
and  you  have  everything  to  buy,  as  you  don't  raise 
anything. 

He  said  he  wasn't  going  to  stay  long  but  he  came 
in  town  to  fetch  Mary  Munroe,  and  that  Ann  May's 
aunt  Phebe  Jenks  was  dead,  and  the  funeral  was 
going  to  be  the  next  day,  and  Ann  must  get  ready  to 


212  THREE   HOLES   IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

go  back  with  him  ;  but  he  would  stay  till  after  din- 
ner and  then  have  plenty  of  time. 

Ann  felt  shocked  at  the  name  of  death,  but  really 
did  not  know  enough  about  her  aunt  Phebe  to  feel 
very  sad  about  her  death.  She  was  willing  to  go,  as 
perhaps  she  would  see  her  brothers  and  sister,  so 
told  Carrie  she  wished  it  had  not  happened  just  now 
when  she  was  having  such  a  nice  visit. 

"  When  you  go  down  Nigger  Hill  you  just  look  at 
the  little  darkies  and  see  what  curly  hair  they  have, 
and  white  teeth,  just  as  pretty  as  they  can  be,"  said 
Carrie. 

Ann  bade  her  friends  good-bye  and  was  soon 
passing  through  the  street  Carrie  had  been  telling 
her  about,  but  she  could  not  see  any  of  the  little 
beauties. 

When  Ann  got  home,  Deborah  met  her  with 
"  Thee  had  better  come  home  ;  thee  has  been  idle 
long  enough,  I  can't  afford  to  board  and  clothe 
thee  to  have  thee  romping  around  the  streets  of 
Providence,  and  if  I  find  thee  has  been  a  naughty 
girl  thee  knows  what  follows.  Hast  thou  read  thy 
bible  daily?" 

Ann  looked  down  a  little,  and  said  "  No,  I  hain't ; 
I  didn't  think  about  it." 

"  Very  well  ;  remember  that  next  first  day,  thee 
commit  to  memory  the  Psalm  which  begins  with  the 
words,  "  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place," 
and  repeat  it  to  me  every  word  or  it  will  be  worse 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  213 

for  thee.     What  hast  thou  got  in  thy  bundle  ?    More 
than  thee  carried  away  ?  " 

Ann  untied  her  bundle  and  there  was  a  picture- 
book  and  some  bright  pieces  of  ribbon  which  Carrie 
had  given  her,  and  her  new  pink  apron. 

"  Where  did  thee  get  these  gew-gaws,  and  what 
hast  thou  in  that  paper  ?  " 

"  Carrie's  father  gave  us  some  money  and  we 
went  down  town  to  the  Arcade  and  I  bought  that 
pink  apron  and  some  nuts,  and  this  is  a  little  snuff 
for  aunt  Lydia  :  and  them  nuts  I  guess  I  will  carry 
to  my  sister  to-morrow,  when  I  go  to  aunt  Phebe's 
funeral." 

"  That  is  just  the  way  William's  money  goes  ;  give 
it  to  the  children  to  waste  this  way.  Don't  let  me 
see  thee  with  these  dashy  ribbons  on.  I  hope  thee 
knit  William  a  pair  of  socks  ;  did  thee  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  single'  stitch ;  they  didn't  want  me 
to." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  I  see  !  '  Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggard  ; 
consider  his  ways  and  be  wise.'  I  have  no  patience 
with  thee.  Take  this  dirty  snuff  to  Lydia  or  burn 
it  up." 

She  found  Lydia,  and  told  her  there  was  some 
snuff  for  her. 

'•  Is  it  yaller  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  it  is  black  ;  the  man  said  it  was  best." 

"  I  like  yaller  best ;  but  thee  is  very  kind,  and  I 
am  obliged  to  thee.  It  was  too  bad  thy  aunt  died 
just  now,  thee  might  have  staid  another  week 


214  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

just  as  well  as  not ;  but  God's  ways  ain't  ours, 
always,  and  he  knows  what  is  best  for  us  ;  thee  bear 
that  in  mind,  and,  '  when  thy  father  and  mother  for- 
sake thee,  then  the  Lord  will  take  thee  up.'" 

The  next  day,  Deborah  and  Ann  got  ready  and 
went  to  Cumberland  to  attend  the  funeral  of  Phebe 
Jenks. 

After  the  services,  George  and  Jonathan,  Ann  and 
Sarah  were  all  together,  trying  to  renew  old  acquaint- 
ance. They  had  all  grown  larger  since  they  last 
met,  and  it  was  hard  for  them  to  feel  that  they  were 
the  same  children  they  had  always  been. 

Their  aunt  Angell  told  them  she  heard  that  James 
and  Will  could  not  leave  their  work.  Samuel  May's 
wife  and  daughter  were  there  from  Newton.  They 
were  going  to  Lonsdale  to  see  a  brother.  Nannie's 
sisters,  Elizabeth  and  Mary,  were  there  from 
Wrentham,  also  their  father. 

Again,  the  long  table  was  spread  in  the  old  May 
homestead,  and  the  relatives  and  friends  were  all 
seated.  In  silence  they  ate,  with  only  now  and 
then  a  word  of  inquiry  for  some  absent  one. 

Nannie,  somewhat  tired  from  the  recent  illness  of 
her  aunt,  went  to  Baltimore.  Some  of  the  neighbors 
would  see  that  her  aunt  Lydia  was  not  left  alone. 

When  Ann  began  to  study  her  lesson,  first  day, 
she  found  it  was  the  same  chapter  which  was  read  at 
her  aunt's  funeral,  and  she  was  very  careful  to  get  it 
perfect. 

Lydia  Haynes  went  away  to  her  friends  in   Provi- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  215 

dence  ;  Mary  John  was  to  teach  school  and  board 
at  home,  and  Deborah  and  Ann  would  do  the  work. 
Ann  never  went  through  a  day  without  having  her 
head  under  water,  or  a  blow  from  Deborah's  flat 
hand,  or  a  settlement  with  the  sticks.  She  could 
never  be  happy,  with  seldom  a  kind  word  from  Deb- 
orah or  Mary  John.  Spring  came,  and,  with  it, 
moving  again ;  and  such  a  moving !  Deborah 
could  not  be  contented  at  the  old  John  farm  ;  they 
must  let  it,  and  all  go  over  to  her  old  home. 

On  some  accounts,  Ann  was  pleased ;  she  could 
see  Emma  Manning  oftener  ;  and  if  it  was  not  for 
those  awful  holes  in  the  chimney  ;  and,  then,  the 
well  was  handier,  and  she  would  get  ducked  oftener ; 
but,  no  amount  of  reasoning  would  make  any  differ- 
ence. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  such  a  lot  of  things 
could  collect,  even  in  forty  years.  Deborah's  house 
must  be  put  in  order  to  receive  the  family.  And, 
days  were  spent  in  getting  it  ready. 

There  was  such  a  picking  up  !  Closets  full  of  old- 
fashioned  China,  dishes  which  had  been  used  for 
years,  and  those  that  had  not  been  used,  —  but, 
washed  every  season,  and  kept  to  look  at. 

Large  pieces  of  mahogany  furniture,  carpets  and 
beds,  old-styled  carved-wood  bedsteads,  chests  of 
bedding,  and  old  stuff  enough  moved  :  but,  more 
packed  in  the  large  old  garret. 

Then,  all  the  cows  belonging  to  both  farms,  and 
some  they  had  to  sell ;  fowls  of  all  sorts  ;  and,  alto- 


2l6  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

gether,  it  was  a  hard  job  ;  and  it  was  all  foolishness, 
Deborah's  going  off  her  own  farm,  but  she  had  tried 
it,  and  now  felt  satisfied  she  would  never  like. 

They  let  the  Capt.  John  farm,  and  the  doctor  con- 
tinued to  live  up  stairs. 

Ann  felt  quite  bad  to  leave  the  baby,  but  they 
could  visit  back  and  forth,  and  she  could  see  it 
quite  often. 

Clawford  and  Daniel  came  home  once  a  week, 
Deborah  said;  so  their  washing  and  mending 
could  be  done  at  home. 

Deborah  desired  to  send  Mary  John  to  boarding- 
school,  to  finish  her  education  in  a  more 
approved  style,  and  she  would  pay  all  expenses. 
She  went  to  Charlestown,  Mass.  Her  mother 
bought  her  a  fawn-colored,  drawn  silk  bonnet,  and 
many  other  nice  things  ;  not  because  she  could  not 
get  them  herself,  but  from  her  kindness  of  heart 
toward  her  husband's  youngest  daughter. 

Ann  saw  the  new  bonnet  lying  in  the  chair  in  the 
parlor-chamber,  so,  just  thought  she  would  try  it  on 
very  carefully,  and  had  got  it  so  as  to  feel  just  right, 
when  the  door  opened  and  in  walked  Mary  John. 
Words  cannot  express  the  way  she  felt  toward  Ann, 
and  the  look  she  gave  her ;  and  the  bonnet  was 
taken  off  her  head  pretty  quick.  Mary  boxed  her 
ears,  and  Ann  knew  she  deserved  it.  That  was 
quite  a  light  punishment  for  her  to  get.  She  was 
ashamed  to  be  caught  meddling,  for  she  was  not  in 
the  habit  of  touching  what  did  not  belong  to  her. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  2 17 

But,  now,  where  were  all  these  folks  to  be  put,  as 
Deborah's  house  was  not  very  large.  Mary  will 
have  the  sitting-room  chamber ;  Daniel  and  Claw- 
ford,  the  long,  back  chamber  ;  the  hired  man,  the 
room  over  the  pantry.  Three  sleeping  rooms  were 
then  left,  but  they  were  too  good  for  Ann,  so  they 
took  the  flock-bed,  which  was  up  garret,  and  laid  it 
down  on  the  east  side  of  the  great  chimney,  and  the 
old  quilts  which  she  had  under  her  when  she  slept 
on  the  brick  hearth  in  Deborah's  room.  Lots  of 
things  more  were  kept  up  garret,  since  they  moved  j 
and,  in  hot  weather  it  was  awful. 

Wasps,  spiders  and  mice  were  in  this  garret.  As 
Ann  was  never  allowed  to  carry  a  light,  she  had  to 
crawl  up  the  stairs  very  carefully,  and  creep  into  her 
bed  of  rags  as  best  she  could.  One  night  she  had 
the  earache,  and  tried  to  go  down  stairs,  and  fell 
the  whole  length  and  hurt  her  quite  badly.  Deb- 
orah came  and  picked  her  up,  and  sent  her  back 
and  told  her,  "  that  another  time  she  made  such  a 
disturbance  she  would  get  a  settlement."  She 
crawled  back  to  her  bed  on  the  floor  like  a  dog,  and 
cried  herself  to  sleep. 

George  May  had  heard  that  the  family  had  moved 
back,  and  one  Sunday  he  walked  over  from  Cum- 
berland, and  he  was  looking  so  nicely  that  Deb- 
orah told  him,  "  she  always  thought  it  would  be  like 
bread  cast  upon  the  waters,  that  her  bringing  up 
had  made  him  a  smart  boy." 

He  asked  her,  "  if  a  boy  was  obliged  to  be  a  town 
pauper  to  be  smart." 


2l8  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

"There!  thee  needn't  be  saucy,  and  thee  mustn't 
buy  too  good  clothes,  or  waste  thy  substance  in  riot- 
ous living  " 

He  said,  he  did  not  think  he  would,  on  eight 
dollars  a  month. 

Ann  walked  all  over  the  farm  with  him,  and  went 
down  in  the  orchard  under  an  old  pear  tree,  and 
showed  him  where  she  had  buried  her  poor  little 
Dickie.  George  asked,  "is  it  a  cat  buried  here?" 
"  No,  indeed,  it  isn't  a  cat,  it  is  my  little  sick  chicken 
that  died."  George  whittled  out  some  pieces  of 
shingle  to  mark  the  resting-place  of  Ann's  pet 
chicken.  It  was  now  time  for  him  to  return  homer 
and  he  told  Ann  he  would  not  come  back  to  live 
with  that  old  tyrant,  if  she  would  give  him  all  she 
was  worth. 

He  hoped  he  would  be  rich  enough  to  get  her 
away  some  time.  Ann  went  with  her  brother,  down 
the  cow-path  where  was  a  pond,  the  orchard  wall 
passing  through  the  middle  of  it  They  stood  there 
watching  the  frogs  hopping  in  and  out  of  the  water, 
and  sometimes  sitting  on  a  stone.  Ann  went  with 
him  as  far  as  the  stone  bridge.  The  good-bye  was 
said  at  last,  and  Ann  stood  on  the  wall  and  watched 
her  brother,  until  his  new,  white  straw  hat  could 
not  be  seen.  She  then  relieved  herself  with  a 
hearty  cry,  and,  leaving  the  frogs  to  take  care  of 
themselves,  walked  slowly  up  to  the  house. 

The  family  were  all  talking  very  earnestly  about 
something,  else  Ann  would  not  have  'been  allowed 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  219 

out  of  Deborah's  sight  so  long.  They  were  consult- 
ing on  the  probability  of  Capt.  John's  going  to  Cuba 
with  Peter  Pratt.  "  The  doctor  says  he  must  go  ; 
he  will  pay  father's  expenses  to  go  as  company  for 
him,"  said  Mary ;  "  and,  if  he  is  near  seventy,  he 
says  he  would  like  to  cross  the  Atlantic  once 
more." 

"But  he  has  the  rheumatism  so  much,"  said  Deb- 
orah. 

"  I  think  the  warm  climate  would  be  a  benefit  to 
me,''  said  Capt.  John,  who  had  just  come  in  ;  "and 
my  nephew  has  over  four  hundred  slaves,  and  his 
plantations  are  among  the  best  in  Matanzas  ;  yet, 
while  I  am  out,  I  would  like  to  visit  Surinam  cnce 
more,  but  I  never  expect  to." 

Capt.  John  and  his  wife  went  to  Providence  a 
number  of  times,  and,  finally,  it  was  arranged  that 
he  should  go  to  Cuba  with  his  niece's  husband, 
Hon.  Peter  Pratt.  Such  a  time  fixing  his  clothes  ; 
so  many  changes,  and  for  a  hot  climate,  and  articles 
suitable  for  the  voyage. 

They  sailed  at  last,  and  Deborah  seemed  to  miss 
the  old  man's  company,  but,  as  farming  was  her 
trade,  she  was  full  of  business. 

She  had  a  nephew,  Samuel  Gill,  who  had  married 
a  girl  from  Albion,  named  Maria  Whetmore.  She 
was  one  of  a  very  large  family  who  had  just  moved 
away  to  a  village  in  the  town  of  Johnston,  near 
Providence,  and  so  Deborah  had  them  come  and 
live  with  her ;  Samuel  working  on  the  farm,  and 


220  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE    CHIMNEY, 

Maria  helping   her ;  and  she  began  to  make  har- 
nesses again  for  the  factory. 

During  the  season,  a  terrible  accident  happened 
to  Maria's  family.  A  dam  gave  way  and  the  house 
in  which  they  lived  was  undermined.  In  an  instant, 
the  house  with  its  sleeping  occupants  was  carried 
away  down  the  stream,  every  timber  of  the  house 
floating  away,  tearing  and  smashing  everything  in  its 
progress.  The  father  and  mother,  brothers  and  sis- 
ters, one  of  which  was  married,  with  her  husband 
and  little  babe ;  all  but  one  brother  were  found  dead 
the  next  morning,  ten  all  told.  They  retired  in  per- 
fect health,  but  before  midnight,  had  breathed  their 
last.  When,  forty-five  ye?rs  later,  an  old,  worn-out 
looking  man  called  at  the  old  Lapham  house,  and 
wished  the  lady  to  buy  some  needles  and  pins,  as 
he  needed  the  money,  and  it  was  told  Ann,  who 
happened  to  be  visiting  there,  that  this  man  was  the 
surviving  brother  of  Maria  Gill's,  she  knew  not  how 
to  express  her  pity  for  this  man,  for,  she  well  rem "in- 
hered the  morning  after  this  disaster,  that  a  man 
drove  in  the  yard  on  horseback,  and  called  for  Sam- 
uel Gill.  She  heard  him  relate  their  great  sorrow, 
and  how  Maria  Gill  would  cry  ;  and,  day  after  day, 
she  would  mourn  and  sob  as  she  went  about  her 
work. 

The  papers  described  the  terrible  scene,  the  next 
morning.  Picking  up  the  dead  bodies,  they  found 
some  jammed  in  between  great  timbers  ,  others  with 
their  limbs  nearly  torn  from  their  bodies;  the  baby 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  221 

was  nearly  buried  in  sand,  with  one  little  hand 
pointing  upward  as  if  to  say,  "  we  are  all  up  there." 
Now,  there  was  only  this  brother  and  Maria  Gill 
left  of  this  numerous  family. 

Deborah  must  have  had  much  to  think  of;  her 
husband  away  so  far,  caring  for  his  sick  nephew ; 
and,  then,  to  witness  the  grief  of  this  young  wife, 
which  was,  indeed,  terrible  to  see. 

When,  some  months  later,  after  they  had  left 
Deborah's  home,  a  lovely  little  boy  was  born  to 
them  ;  her  attention  was  turned  from  the  dead  to 
the  living ;  but,  what  was  her  dismay,  to  find  that 
the  baby  could  not  cry,  nor  make  a  loud  noise  ;  the 
mother  had  hushed  it  with  her  grief. 

Letters  came  now  and  then  from  Capt  John. 
They  had  reached  his  nephew's  home  in  due  sea- 
son and  found  everything  more  beautiful  than  he 
had  ever  thought  of.  His  brother  Scott  had  fol- 
lowed the  sea  until  he  married  a  Spanish  lady  and 
settled  in  Matanzas,  Cuba.  He  died  and  left  his  son 
very  wealthy.  He  also  had  married  his  second 
Spanish  wife,  and  they  lived  in  princely  style. 
Descriptions  of  his  home  and  family,  his  servants, 
his  slaves  and  his  plantations,  their  manner  of 
riding  and  the  customs  of  the  people  generally  were 
vividly  portrayed  in  the  Capt.'s  letters  home ;  and, 
also,  the  condition  of  his  patient,  which,  for  most  of 
the  time  seemed  quite  favorable. 

Large  cases  of  fruits,  sugars,  oranges,  preserves, 
boxies  of  jellies,  barrels  of  cocoanuts,  were  sent  to 


222  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

both  families.  After  they  had  been  there  a  few 
weeks,  the  sick  man  seemed  so  comfortable,  that 
Capt.  John  began  to  think  of  leaving  him  there  until 
he  quite  recovered,  and  of  coming  home  himself,  as  he 
would  rather  be  there  at  his  time  of  life.  It  was 
finally  decided  that  he  should  leave  his  nephew  in 
the  care  of  his  physician  and  servants,  with  the 
assurance  that  his  nephew,  William  John,  would 
anticipate  every  wish  ;  so,  all  arranged,  Capt.  John 
left  his  patient,  and  in  due  time  arrived  in  Provi- 
dence. He  comforted  his  niece  by  telling  her  (as  he 
really  thought,)  that  her  husband  would  return  to 
her  a  comparatively  well  man.  Capt.  John  was 
thought  to  be  quite  heroic  to  cross  the  Atlantic  at 
his  age,  but  he  enjoyed  his  trip  very  much,  and 
returned  hale  and  hearty. 

His  children  icjoiced  at  his  safe  return,  and  Mrs. 
Pratt  and  children  were  overjoyed  at  the  thought  of 
having  husband  and  father  returned  to  them  soon  ; 
much  better,  if  not  perfectly  well ;  and,  with  what 
tender  solicitude  they  listened  to  Capt  John  as  he 
answered  all  their  questions,  and  related  every  word 
he  thought  would  be  of  any  interest  to  this  waiting 
family. 

One  fifth  day,  while  Capt.  John  was  away,  a  man 
from  England,  who  was  traveling  through  the  coun- 
try holding  appointed  meetings,  and  setting  forth 
some  new  views  regarding  church  discipline,  and 
doing  away  with  the  quaint  ways  of  the  old-fashioned 
friend,  whose  name  was  Joseph  John  Gurney,  . 


OR    A.    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  223 

.appointed  a  meeting  at  the  old  meeting-house  near 
Lonsdale. 

Deborah  went,  and  took  Ann  with  her.  After 
meeting,  she  thought  she  would  go  to  Providence 
and  call  on  Ann  Pratt,  as  she  was  desirous  to  hear 
the  latest  news  from  her  husband.  Ann  had  a  most 
delightful  visit.  Anna  Pratt  was  the  most  lovely 
girl  she  had  ever  seen ;  she  was  nearly  fourteen 
years  old,  with  the  most  lovely  countenance,  with 
dimples  in  her  cheeks,  and  most  elegant  teeth.  Her 
long  brown  hair  was  braided  and  hung  down  her 
back,  tied  with  ribbons  the  color  of  her  hair. 
.Ann  could  not  keep  her  admiring  eyes  from  the 
beautiful  girl,  for  she  admired  everything  beautiful 
which  God  had  made,  from  a  tiny  flower  to  the  moon 
sailing  so  gently  through  the  beautiful  sky  ;  and  now, 
Loring,  the  colored  coachman,  must  take  care  of 
old  Betsey,  and  they  must  stay  to  dinner.  They 
would  not  hear  a  word  about  their  going  to  Hiram 
Gill's  or  Caroline  Foote's  to  dinner.  Anna  Pratt 
very  gently  untied  Ann's  quaint  little  bonnet,  and 
unpinned  the  little  round  cape  which  she  wore. 

Ann  looked  at  Anna's  lovely  dress,  plaid,  trimmed 
with  narrow  velvet,  and  then  looked  down  to  her 
own  chocolate  colored  calico,  with  bunches  of  morn- 
ing glories  all  over  it.  The  dress  was  not  just  to 
Deborah's  taste.  She  did  not  like  bright  colors,  but 
this  print  was  given  to  Ann  for  a  meeting  dress; 
neither  buttons,  a  collar,  nor  edging  relieved  the 
plainness.  Ann  tried  to  sit  so  as  to  hide  her  calf 


224  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

skin  shoes,  and  amused  herself  looking  at  the  ele- 
gant vases  as  large  as  herself;  the  elegant  mantel 
with  a  clock  in  a  glass  case  ;  the  long  silk  curtains 
which  draped  on  the  carpet,  with  great  shining 
things  on  the  top ;  the  carpet  with  border  and 
fringe  all  around  it. 

She  admired  the  Turkish  rugs,  and  thought  they 
were  made  of  rags  like  Deborah's  ;  and,  as  for  the 
piano,  she  had  never  seen  one  before  ;  and  when 
Anna  played  for  her  amusement,  she  thought  it  was 
just  the  way  she  had  to  sit  at  the  meal-chest  when 
she  had  a  whole  bushel  of  meal  to  sift.  She  com- 
pared the  music  to  the  song  of  the  angels  ;  as  she 
noticed  the  strings  inside  the  piano,  she  told  Anna 
she  had  read  in  the  Bible  about  all  manner  of 
stringed  instruments,  and  somebody  kept  their  harp 
hung  up  on  a  willow  tree. 

But  the  dinner ;  to  sit  down  with  such  elegance  ! 
She  watched  Anna  and  the  others,  and  saw  just  how 
to  place  her  napkin,  and,  when  Anna  drank  water, 
she  did  ;  and  \vhen-the  colored  man,  who  waited  on 
table,  took  her  plate  and  brought  her  something  else 
on  another,  three  or  four  times  —  she  thought  she 
must  eat  everything  on  the  plate,  as  that  was  the 
way  she  was  taught  —  she  thought  if  she  could  only 
carry  some  of  it  home,  to  eat  when  she  didn't  get 
her  stent  done,  she  would  like  it ;  but  just  as  she 
got  nicely  to  eating,  another  plate  would  come,  and 
she  thought  she  ought  to  have  asked  the  waiter  to 
excuse  her  for  leaving  anything  on  her  plate,  and 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  225, 

she  felt  quite  relieved  when  he  came  and  took  every- 
thing off  from  the  table.  What  a  job  it  must  be  to 
wash  all  the  dishes  ;  she  thought,  of  course,  Anna 
would  have  them  to  do,  if  they  did  have  a  black  man. 
Ann  got  along  very  well  without  any  very  serious 
mistakes,  but  thought  they  would  sit  at  the  table  all 
day  and  talk,  and  eat  oranges,  banannas  and  grapes. 
Deborah  kept  her  keen  eyes  on  her,  and  Ann  really 
did  not  know  whether  to  eat  all  she  wanted  to  or  not, 
until  Anna's  mother  says  :  "  this  dear  child  is  not 
enjoying  the  fruit  at  all!"  and  Anna  peeled  an 
orange  for  her,  and  said  to  her,  "  we  will  go  and  see 
Loring's  baby  after  dinner." 

After  going  into  a  little  room  and  washing  their 
fingers,  they  passed  through  the  elegant  dining-room 
into  the  great  kitchen,  and  there  were  two  colored 
women  with  white  handkerchiefs  tied  around  their 
heads,  at  the  sink,  washing  dishes.  They  went  out, 
passing  under  grape-vine  arbors  and  by  elegant  beds 
of  flowers.  A  path  led  them  up  the  side  hill  and 
to  the  house  which  Mr.  Pratt  had  built  for  his  coach- 
man, Loring,  just  before  he  went  away.  It  had  not 
been  painted  but  would  be  soon,  Anna  said. 

Here  they  found  Loring's  wife  ironing.  On  the 
floor  was  a  six  months'  old  baby,  "  black  as  a  cun- 
ning little  darkey  could  be,"  Anna  said.  She 
catches  up  the  little  one  and  almost  smothers  it 
with  kisses,  while  Ann  sat  down  in  a  cane-seat 
chair  which  was  almost  bottomless  ;  but  Anna  said, 
"  I  guess  if  you  put  this  bosom  board  in  the  chair, 


226  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE  CHIMNEY, 

it  will  hold  you.     You  might  mend  that,  Dinah,  with 
a  piece  of  carpet." 

The  little  Chloe  seemed  to  like  the  muxingshe  had 
and  Dinah  seemed  pleased  to  have  her  little  girl 
noticed. 

"  Good-bye,  Dinah  ;  good-bye  baby  ;  "  said  Anna, 
and  then  they  went  all  around .  among  the  flowers, 
Anna  snatching  this  one  and  that  one  off. 

"  Do  you  like  geraniums,  and  don't  you  like 
tuberoses  ?  Here  are  some  lovely  ones  !  "  She 
named  over  the  names  of  many  flowers  which  Ann 
knew  nothing  about. 

"  Yes,  I  love  them  all ;  aunt  Deborah  has  lilacs 
and  roses,  and  old  maid  pinks  and  hollyhocks,  and 
tiger-lilies." 

"Yes,  we  have  them,  too,  and  I  think  they  are 
nice.  Is  it  not  nice  out  to  cousin  Mary  John's 
new  home  ?  She  says  it  is.  Here  are  the  flowers. 
I  have  not  fixed  them  very  nice." 

They  went  into  the  house  and,  just  then,  an  ele- 
gant carriage,  drawn  by  a  span  of  horses  and  driven 
by  a  colored  coachman  who  wore  a  light  coat  and 
kid  gloves,  and  a  beaver  hat,  stopped  at  the  en- 
trance. Two  ladies  alighted  and  came  into  the 
house  to  inquire  of  Mrs.  Pratt  concerning  her  absent 
husband.  Their  name  was  Ives.  They  only  made 
a  short  call,  and  directly  Deborah  felt  obliged  to 
start  for  home,  as  she  wished  to  call  at  George 
Wardwell's  and  carry  their  daughter  Ann  home  with 
her. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  22 7 

This  family  visited  her  quite  often  and  sometimes 
boarded  with  her  several  weeks  at  a  time.  Mr. 
Wardwell  was  agent  at  the  Hamlet  Mills,  Rhode 
Island,  for  many  years.  Their  eldest  daughter  mar- 
ried Mr.  Wythe,  and  went  to  Philadelphia  to  live. 

Deborah  seemed  quite  pleased  to  have  Ann  Ward- 
well  come  and  board  with  her.  She  was  in  very 
poor  health  and  they  thought  Deborah's  care  would 
do  her  good.  Many  a  tramp  did  she  take  with  Ann 
May  as  guide,  for  Ann  could  knit  while  walking. 

Cap"L  John  had  not  been  gone  home  but  a  few 
days,  when,  one  very  pleasant  morning  as  Mr.  Pratt 
sat  in  his  easy  chair  looking  out  of  the  window, 
seeming  as  well  as  usual,  he  said  to  the  slave  attend- 
ing him,  that  he  might  tell  his  barber  to  come  in 
now.  The  man  stepped  out  to  the  next  door  and 
came  right  back,  but  Mr.  Pratt  was  dead. 

His  remains  were  sent  home  to  Providence,  and 
were  on  the  water  at  the  same  time  with  his  uncle. 

Although  there  were  no  mourners  who  wore  black 
ribbon  tied  around  their  coat  sleeves  for  forty  days 
of  mourning,  as  did  the  students  of  Brown  Univer- 
sity for  their  benefactor,  there  was  cause  for  mourn- 
ing for  this  good  man's  death,  all  over  the  city  in 
which  he  lived.  The  grief  of  his  widow  and 
children  was  terrible  to  witness  ;  but,  in  after  years 
the  widow  married  the  man  whose  sad  duty  it  was  to 
inform  her  of  her  bereavement. 

Ann  May  had  been  dreading  a  settlement,  prom- 
ised her  by  Deborah  some  days,  for  not  getting  her 


228  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

stent  done,  but  their  going  to  the  funeral  of  Mr. 
Pratt,  and  people  coming  and  going,  it  was  put  off; 
but  now  there  would  be  a  chance,  for  all  had  gone 
away  this  forenoon. 

The  more  Ann  thought  of  it,  the  more  she  resolved 
to  run  away  ;  but  where,  and  how,  could  she  get  off 
the  place  without  being  seen  ? 

The  butcher  drove  up  to  the  gate,  and  would 
stop  quite  awhile  ;  so,  Ann  thought,  "  now,  or  never." 
She  ran  up  garret,  and  taking  her  knitting  work,  and 
the  articles  she  thought  so  much  of,  tied  them  up 
and  went  down  stairs.  She  put  on  her  calico  sun- 
bonnet,  and  went  to  the  barn  and  hid  the  bundle  in 
the  manger.  She  thought  she  could  send  some  one 
to  get  it,  as  she  could  run  faster  without  it.  She  ran 
as  fast  as  she  could,  down  past  the  pond,  over  the 
stone  bridge  ;  but,  by  this  time,  she  heard  Deborah 
screaming  as  loud  as  she  could,  "  Ann,  Ann,  thee 
come  back  !"  Running  over  the  stones  was  such 
slow  work  that  Deborah  got  quite  near  to  her  ;  and 
if  the  bridge  had  been  over  a  river,  Ann  would  have 
jumped  off  into  the  water. 

Deborah  had  a  stick  in  her  hand,  and  Ann  sat 
down  on  the  rocks  and  cried,  and  begged  her,  not  to 
whip  her  ;  but  Deborah  held  her  with  her  right  hand 
and  struck  her  with  her  left,  all  the  way  up  to  the 
house  (for  she  was  left-handed). 

"  Here  is  thy  ball  of  yarn,  I  found  near  the  barn  ; 
what  does  that  mean  ?  " 

Ann  had  to  show  her  the  bundle,  hid  away  in  the 
manger  under  the  hay. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  229 

"  Where  was  thee  going?  " 

"  I' was  going  to  see  if  I  could  find  aunt  Lydia's 
house.  I  didn't  want  you  to  settle  with  me  ;  that 
was  the  reason  I  ran  away." 

"  Well,  I  won't  whip  thee  any  more  now,  as  there 
is  Edward  Harris  and  his  wife  Rachel,  from  Woon- 
socket,  waiting  at  the  gate  ;  but,  thee  remember,  I 
haven't  got  through  with  thee  yet.  '  Spare  the  rod 
and  spoil  the  child.'  I  have  been  too  lenient  with 
thee  since  father  came  back." 

Deborah  went  out  to  the  gate  to  speak  to  Friend 
Harris  ;  they  had  been  to  Lime  Rock,  as  Hepsabeth 
Harris  (Edward's  aunt)  had  died  the  night  before, 
and  would  be  buried  at  one  o'clock,  day  after  to-mor- 
row they  said.  Deborah  knew  her  old  friend  would 
not  be  here  long,  but  did  not  think  her  quite  so  near 
her  end. 

'' '  The  Lord  rejoiceth  in  the  death  of  his  saints,'  " 
said  Deborah  to  Elizabeth,  who  had  just  come  in  ; 
"  I  shall  miss  the  old  face,  and  the  pleasure  of  carry- 
ing her  little  niceties." 

Ann  knew  she  would  receive  no  more  of  those 
little  balls  of  thread  she  had  had  to  use.  If  aunt 
Deborah  should  go  to  the  funeral,  would  there  not 
be  another  chance  to  run  away  ?  She  would  not  be 
caught  so  easily  next  time. 

Deborah  told  Ann  to  come  with  her ;  she  went 
up  the  front  stairs,  and  opening  the  smoke-hole  door 
saying,  "now,  Ann,  thee  get  in  that  place  and  stay 
until  I  call  for  thee  :  Ann  climbed  in  as  best  she 


230  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

could.  On  the  floor  of  the  place  were  half-burnt 
cobs  and  ashes  ;  across  the  place  were  sticks  for 
hams  to  be  hung  up  on.  Deborah  shut  the  door 
and  buttoned  it ;  the  darkness  was  awful.  Ann 
cried  and  screamed,  but  all  to  no  purpose  ;  so  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  apron,  and  sat  down  on 
the  heap  of  cobs  and  ashes,  and  amused  herself  by 
laying  plans  for  running  away.  She  would  get  her 
few  clothes  in  a  bundle  ;  and,  in  order  to  change 
her  dress,  so  as  to  look  as  decent  as  possible,  she 
would  go  over  in  the  woods  opposite  the  house,  and 
get  behind  a  not  very  high  hill ;  then,  she  would  go 
to  friend  Vose's  or  Irving's,  and  one  of  them  would 
surely  let  her  live  with  them,  if  they  knew  how  much 
she  could  do.  Ann  could  hear  Capt.  John's  loud 
laugh  as  he  drove  into  the  yard ;  she  also  heard  the 
clock  strike,  time  after  time.  She  could  hear  them 
when  they  eat  dinner,  and  she  hoped  Deborah  would 
come  and  give  her  something,  if  only  a  crust  of 
bread  ;  but  no  ;  all  day  long  she  waited,  until  bed- 
time. 

She  then  heard  Deborah  coming,  and  opening  the 
door,  she  said,  -'thee  may  come  out  now  and  go  up 
garret  to  bed." 

Ann  cried  and  begged  for  something  to  eat,  but 
not  a  mouthful  would  Deborah  give  her.  Deborah 
went  up  with  her,  and  told  her  how  to  make  up  her 
bed  in  an  orderly  manner  ;  she  then  said,  "  here  is  a 
bowl  of  thoroughwort  tea  ;"  and  she  stood  over  her 
until  she  had  forced  the  bitter  tea  down  the  child's 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  231 

throat.  Then,  she  took  a  candle  rod,  and  said  to 
Ann,  "I  will  have  a  settlement  for  thy  running 
away ;  thee  dare  do  that  again,  and  thee  will  find 
out  that  my  word  will  be  like  the  laws  of  the  Medes 
and  Persians."  After  Ann  was  ready  to~crawl  into 
her  bed  of  rags,  Deborah  told  her  to  lie  down  ;  and 
then  it  seemed  as  if  she  never  would  get  through 
beating  the  poor  little  hungry  girl.  She  got  tired 
at  last ;  and  then  went  down  stairs  feeling  sure  that 
Ann  would  not  dare  to  run  away  again,  or  neglect  to 
get  her  stent  done.  She  said  to  herself,  "truly,  the 
way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard ; "  feeling  that  she 
had  done  a  good  day's  work  in  tormenting  her  little 
charge,  for  at  least  ten  hours.  "  To-morrow,  she 
shall  have  a  stent,  and,  if  she  don't  get  that  done, 
I'll  show  her  no  mercy." 

The  next  day,  Dr.  Humes  drove  over  and  brought 
the  little  Elizabeth  and  a  little  baby  brother  whom 
Ann  had  never  seen  before.  Ann  asked  aunt  Han- 
nah his  name.  She  told  her  he  was  named  for  his 
father,  Thomas  Dresser. 

Ann  felt  nearly  sick  all  day,  after  her  trouble  the 
day  before.  It  was  just  impossible  for  her  to  do  all 
her  stent,  having  the  children  to  take  up  her  attention 
so  not  more  than  half  her  task  was  done.  After 
they  had  gone  home.  Deborah  called  Ann  to  her 
and  counted  the  times  around  she  had  knit. 

"  Really,  Ann,  thee  has  done  well,  I  am  pur- 
suaded." 

"  My  head  aches  so,  I  can't  knit ;  may  I  go  to 
bed  and  take  my  whipping  to-morrow  ?  " 


232  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

Deborah,  being  tired  herself,  let  her  go. 

Ann  overslept  the  next  morning,  so  Deborah  took 
a  dipper  of  water,  and,  taking  off  her  slippers,  went 
up  garret  where  Ann  lay  asleep  and  dashed  the 
water  in  her  face,  saying,  "  I'll  learn  thee  to  sleep  till 
this  time." 

Before  Deborah  went  to  the  funeral  of  Hepsabeth 
Harris,  she  told  Ann  if  she  didn't  make  up  for  lost 
time  and  do  her  stent,  when  she  got  home  she  would 
whip  her  within  an  inch  of  her  life,  and  would  put 
her  in  the  ash-hole  to  stay  all  night.  Two  days  of 
hard  work  would  not  have  done  what  she  was  told 
to  do  in  three  hours,  so  Ann  felt  as  if  it  was  really  a 
matter  of  life  and  death  ;  she  would  rather  die  than 
be  put  in  the  ash-hole  again,  or  get  those  awful 
whippings  with  sticks  or  candle-rods. 

No  one  was  at  home  except  Elizabeth  Rathburn, 
and  Deborah  told  her  to  see  that  Ann  kept  at  work. 
But  Chester  Stone  and  his  wife,  from  Vermont,  who 
were  visiting  Olive  Manning,  came  to  spend  the  day 
—  also,  Rhoda  Bassett,  from  Woonsocket.  Ann 
helped  get  dinner  and  clear  away  ;  then  she  went  up 
garret  and  picked  up  her  little  valuables  —  a  dark 
calico  dress,  and  shoes  which  she  had  earned  her- 
self by  picking  berries  and  selling  them  at  Albion. 
She  watched  her  chance,  and,  when  all  were  busy, 
got  her  bundle  and  ran  across  the  road  into  the 
woods.  Behind  some  trees  she  stopped  to  untie  her 
bundle  and  took  out  her  shoes  and  an  apron  that 
Maria  Gill  had  woven  when  she  worked  at  Albion. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  233 

It  was  of  unbleached  cloth  with  a  red  stripe  across 
the  bottom  and  ends  of  the  strings.  She  also  took 
out  her  new  calico  dress.  She  had  a  clean,  calico 
sun-bonnet  with  pieces  of  paste-board  slipped  in  to 
keep  it  in  shape.  She  looked  around  sharp,  and 
not  seeing  any  one,  proceeded  to  change  her  dress, 
which  she  did  very  quickly.  Tying  on  her  apron, 
and  the  half-handkerchief  round  her  neck,  and  put- 
ting on  her  new  shoes  which  were  always  got  a  size 
too  large,  to  allow  for  her  growing,  she  was  now 
ready  to  start. 

No  slave  starting  for  freedom  ever  used  more 
caution.  She  did  not  dare  to  take  the  main  road 
until  nearly  opposite  Morey  Lapham's — one  of  the 
neighbors.  She  climbed  over  the  old  stone  wall 
and  walked  as  fast  as  she  could.  She  heard  a  car- 
riage behind  her,  and  she  thought  perhaps  it  was 
Capt.  John  or  his  hired  man,  James  Mowrey,  but 
she  saw  it  was  Simon  Sayles  of  Lime  Rock,  as  he 
whizzed  by  her.  She  had  started  for  Manville. 
She  had  seen  Mr.  Irving,  the  agent ;  and,  if  she 
went  there,  he  would  certainly  hide  her  just  as 
people  would  hide  the  runaway  slaves  ;  she  thought 
she  was  just  as  good  if  she  wasn't  black.  She 
reached  the  Anne  Gully  place,  and  sat  down  behind 
some  bushes,  as  she  heard  another  carriage  coming; 
as  it  passed,  she  heard  the  voice  of  Lydia  Haynes, 
and  her  sister  Phebe  ;  and,  she  saw  also,  her  brother 
Joseph  and  his  father.  They  had  been  to  the 
funeral  and  came  back  by  Deborah's. 


234  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

She  now  hopped  up,  and,  taking  up  her  bundle, 
thought  she  was  going  toward  Manville.  She 
walked  and  walked,  and  thought  she  would  never 
reach  the  village.  She  had  taken  the  wrong  road, 
and  was  on  the  stage  road  to  Woonsocket,  so  a  man 
who  came  along  told  her ;  but  she  got  on  the  right 
road  at  last,  and  was  soon  descending  the  long, 
steep  hill.  She  inquired  at  Vose's  store,  if  they 
knew  of  anyone  who  would  hire  a  girl  of  her  age. 

"  How  old  are  you,"  said  one  of  the  men. 

"  Nine,  last  February." 

"  You  are  rather  young ;  where  have  you  been 
living  ?  You've  run  away,  haven't  you  ? " 

"  No,  I  walked  ;  I  never  run  much  ;  I  have  a  lame 
side  and  back." 

"  Well,  then,  you  had  better  walk  back,"  said  the 
man  in  the  store.  But  Ann  kept  on,  down  into  the 
village,  and  was  told  that  Mr.  Irving  lived  over  the 
bridge  and  turn  a  little  to  the  right  until  she  came 
to  a  small,  white  house,  on  the  left  hand  side,  with 
steps  leading  up  to  the  door.  She  would  find  him 
or  his  family. 

It  was  getting  late  and  she  hurried  along  and 
found  the  house.  Mr.  Irving  was  at  tea,  He  said, 
"  Well,  little  girl,  what  is  it  ?  What  can  I  do  for 
you?  Haven't  I  seen  you  at  Deborah  John's  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  you  have  an  errand  about  those  harnesses 
she  is  making  for  us,  perhaps?  " 

But  Ann  said  "  Xo  ;  I  want   to  work    for   you.     I 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  235 

.  know  how  to  knit  and  I  can  make  harnesses,  and  if 
you  will  only  let  me  live  here  I  will  do  anything  you 
want  me  to." 

"  Did  you  run  away  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  call  it  that.  Deborah  was  going 
to  shut  me  up  in  the  ash-hole  and  whip  me  awfully, 
and  I  had  rather  die  than  go  back,"  and  she  tried 
hard  to  keep  from  crying. 

"  Deborah  is  quite  severe,  no  doubt,  as  Mr.  Vose 
will  testify,  when  he  went  to  school  to  her  ;  but  she 
is  quite  charitable  to  the  poor.  You  had  better  go 
home  and  be  a  good  girl,  and  I  guess  you  will  get 
along." 

Ann  knew  of  no  other  way  but  to  go  home.  She 
got  into  the  village  and  was  crying  ;  it  was  growing 
dark.  The  factory  bell  had  rung,  and  the  noise  of 
the  mill  had  ceased.  A  woman  came  up  to  Ann 
and  asked  her  what  was  the  matter,  and  where  she 
lived.  Ann  knew  that  the  woman  was  Isabella 
Knights,  who  used  to  board  with  Deborah  at  Albion, 
and  had  frequently  visited  her  since.  She  had  a 
sister  Lucy,  and  they  now  lived  at  Manville. 

"  Why,  little  girl,  go  right  straight  home,  it  is 
most  dark.  My  sister  Lucy  went  to  see  your 
mother,  when  she  lay  dead  at  Albion ;  and  she 
and  I  helped  this  good  woman  you  live  with,  to  fix 
the  children's  clothes  ;  we  worked  nearly  all  night ; 
and  now  to  run  away  from  her  !  how  awfully  she 
will  feel !  Here  is  Eleanor  Holton  coming  with  her 
little  Helen,  who  has  run  out  to  meet  her  mother." 
Ann  promised  to  be  a  good  girl,  but  thought  she 


236  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

would  just  try  one  more  place  ;  so  she  went  into  a 
house  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  street,  at  the  foot 
of  the  steep  hill.  Here  she  was  met  by  Emily  Sev- 
ans,  who  said,  "  what  do  you  want,  little  girl  ?  " 

As  Ann  set  her  bundle  down  she  could  plainly 
hear  the  money  in  her  little  box  rattle.  Ann  told 
her  where  she  lived,  and  that  her  mother  died  when 
she  was  three  years  old ;  and  that  she  could  not  do 
her  stent  that  aunt  Deborah  gave  her  to  do.  Emily 
told  her  she  knew  about  her,  for  Clawford  Martin 
said  she  was  a  very  kind  grandmother  to  him,  and 
she  didn't  believe  a  word  that  Ann  told  about  that 
kind  and  charitable  woman. 

So  Ann,  tired  and  hungry,  went  up  the  hill 
towards  her  home,  crying  and  sobbing  all  the  way. 
It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  she  reached  the  Lap- 
ham  house.  She  did  not  need  to  creep  along  as  she 
did  when  she  left  that  afternoon.  She  was  obliged 
to  go  into  the  kitchen  where  Deborah  and  Capt. 
John  were  talking  about  harnessing  up  old  Betsy 
and  going  after  Ann.  They  had  heard  that  a  girl 
answering  her  description  had  been  seen  in  Mann- 
ville. 

"  Then  thee  has  returned,"  said  Deborah.  "  An- 
other time  when  thou  art  called  away  so  unexpectedly 
thee -let  us  know  it  and  we  will  have  the  horse  har- 
nessed and  carry  thee.  I  suppose  thee  had  very 
urgent  business,  or  else  thee  would  have  spoken  to 
some  of  us  about  thy  contemplated  departure." 
But  Ann,  so  tired  and  hungry,  did  not  appreciate  her 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  237 

sarcastic  remarks,  and  felt  as  if  she  would  like  to 
have  the  floor  open  and  let  her  under. 

"  Thee  eat  this  bowl  of  bread  and  milk  and  go  to 
bed  and  I  will  see  thee  to-morrow." 

Ann  was  glad  to  get  up  stairs  and  out  of  sight 
and  hearing,  but  she  slept  well  and  got  up  before 
daylight  and  went  down  stairs,  before  Doborah 
would  creep  upon  her  unawares.  She  had  got  her 
knitting  and  was  at  work  when  Deborah  got  up. 

For  more  than  a  week,  Deborah  kept  up  a  series 
of  punishments  —  all  the  things  she  could  think  of. 
Ann  was  shut  up  in  the  ash-hole,  fed  on  cayenne 
pepper,  given  doses  of  thoroughwort ;  not  a  day 
passed  without  her  pinching  Ann's  sore  arm,  and 
almost  shaking  the  very  breath  out  of  her. 

Ann  must  learn  whole  chapters  in  the  Bible,  and 
repeat  them  perfectly.  Her  knitting  seemed  inces- 
sant :  her  stents  could  not  be  done,  and,  in 
consequence,  she  must  be  whipped.  Fifty  times 
round  in  each  hour  was  her  stent,  and  she  could 
never  do  it. 

Things  went  on  at  the  farm  much  as  usual. 
Quinces,  by  the  hundred  bushels  were  to  be  picked, 
and  Deborah  and  Ann  worked  out  as  usual.  Deb- 
orah would  sometimes  say,  "  if  we  had  Joe  Holden 
(a  boy  who  lived  with  her  before  George  May  came) 
or  thy  brother  George,  it  would  save  much  valuable 
time  for  the  hired  man." 

In  the  winter,  she  made  harnesses,  and  Capt.  John 
would  wind  the  twine  on  the  needles. 


238  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNKV, 

Capt.  John's  son  George  had  gone  out  West,  and 
was  living  in  Peoria,  111.  They  lived  in  the  Dele- 
van  House  on  one  of  the  great  prairies,  and  they 
were  very  homesick. 

Deborah  had  always  wanted  to  visit  Niagara  Falls, 
and,  also,  a  niece  of  hers  who  lived  in  Detroit, 
Mich.  This  niece  had  visited  Deborah  recently, 
and  her  daughter  had  had  the  measles  while  there. 
Ann  had  occasion  always  to  remember  their  visit, 
as  she  caught  the  measles  from  the  sick  girl. 

It  was  finally  decided  that  Capt.  John  and  wife 
would  take  a  journey  west,  and  that  Ann  should  go 
to  Cumberland  and  stay  with  Barton  Ballou's  family 
and  work  for  her  board  and  go  to  school.  She  had 
been  to  Albion  at  Mary  Ann  Wood's  school  for  about 
three  weeks  the  previous  winter. 

Barton  Ballou's  business  was  that  of  a  teacher. 
He  was  a  Universalist  and  often  preached,  but  his 
wife  was  a  Friend.  They  had  quite  a  family  of  girls. 
Ann  was  delighted  at  the  prospect  of  going  away 
without  having  to  run  away,  for  that,  she  thought, 
really  didn't  pay ;  and  she  thought  she  had  been 
very  wicked  in  trying  to  do  so. 

Capt.  John  and  his  wife  went  and  were  gone  a 
number  of  weeks. 

Ann  was  obliged  to  work  hard,  but  she  was  kindly 
treated.  When  Capt.  John  drove  into  Barton  Bal- 
-lou's  yard,  and  Ann  realized  that  her  stay  with 
this  kind  family  was  ended,  and  that  she  could  not 
go  to  school  with  the  children  any  more  ;  or,  ever, 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  239 

perhaps,  again  see  her  dear  teacher,  she  went  away 
by  herself,  sat  down  on  a  rock,  and  cried  with  all 
her  might.  Every  Sunday  she  had  been  to  Sunday 
school  and  meeting.  The  meetings  she  attended 
were  in  the  old  Ballou  Meeting-House,  and  now  and 
then  she  had  listened  with  great  interest  to  the  kind 
words  of  Hosea  Ballou. 

She  loved  her  Sabbath  school  teacher  who  so 
kindly  told  her  of  the  love  of  Jesus  for  little  child- 
ren, and  especially  for  those  who  had  no  one  to  care 
for  them,  and  how  he  said  while  here  on  earth,  <-Lo, 
I  am  with  you  alway,  even  unto  the  end  of  the 
world."  Every  word  Ann  had  heard  seemed  to  sink 
deep  into  her  heart,  and  she  would  try  to  say, 
"  Lord,  forgive  aunt  Deborah  for  being  so  ugly  to 
me  and  help  me  to  bear  my  punishments."  Some- 
times she  would  think  her  desires  were  answered, 
and  then  again  she  would  get  discouraged  and  for- 
get to  pray  for  anything  else  but  that  she  might  die, 
and  go  to  live  with  her  dear  mother  who,  she  was 
sure  was  waiting  for  her  little  girl. 

Ann  had  not  seen  her  brothers  and  sisters  for  a 
long  time,  but  it  so  happened  that  the  children  of 
Albion  and  vicinity  were  invited  to  a  picnic  at  Cum- 
berland Hill  on  the  Fourth  of  July,  and  to  hear  an 
oration  at  the  church  by  Rev.  Hosea  Ballou.  They 
were  to  go  from  Albion  to  Mannville  in  a  canal -boat 
and  then  walk  up  the  hill  to  the  church,  and  from 
there  to  the  picnic  grounds. 

The  Willard  children,  the    Mannings,  Clarks,  and 


240  THREE    HOLES   IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

Hammonds  all  went.  And  such  a  lovely  time  !  Ann 
had  never  been  on  a  canal-boat  before.  When  the 
boat  got  to  Mannville  it  stopped,  and  the  children 
with  their  teachers  got  out,  taking  with  them  all 
sorts  of  baskets  and  pails  full  of  nice  things  for  their 
picnic  dinner. 

Ann  had  been  on  the  grounds  quite  a  while  and 
was  looking  to  see  if  she  could  find  her  aunt  Lydia, 
when  she  heard  some  one  say,  "  That's  Ann  ;  I 
know  her  by  her  dress."  What  was  her  delight  when 
her  aunt,  her  sister,  and  brothers  George  and  Jona- 
than all  took  her  hand  and  kissed  her.  It  seemed  as 
if  her  happiness  was  more  than  she  could  bear. 

Sarah  told  Ann  that  she  had  a  nice  bead-bag  that 
was  her  mother's,  and  she  had  lost  it  since  she  left 
home,  so  her  day's  happiness  was  at  an  end,  unless 
she  found  it.  The  four  children  sat  down  and  ate 
their  dinner  together,  and  tried  to  act  acquainted> 
but,  could  not  find  much  in  common  to  talk  about 
except  the  absent  ones.  Their  father  was  still  in. 
Connecticut,  and  was  going  to  be  married  again 
before  a  great  while.  They  did  not  know  much 
about  it,  only  that  the  lady  he  was  going  to  marry, 
was  a  daughter  of  the  deceased  Ebenezer  Coffin  of 
Boston  ;  that  she  was  much  older  than  their  father, 
and  an  old-fashioned  Presbyterian.  James  and  Will 
were  at  work  in  the  northern  part  of  Rhode  Island; 
James  had  the  charge  of  a  small  factory,  and 
Will  worked  for  him.  James  had  acquired  an  edu- 
cation that  fitted  him  for  an  ordinary  business  man, 
although  he  was  but  eighteen  years  old. 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  241 

The  children  talked  of  different  things,  until 
their  aunt  told  them  they  would  have  to  leave  Ann,  as 
they  must  walk  home ;  but  the  boys  wanted  to  see 
her  on  board  the  canal-boat,  and  ride  with  her  as 
far  as  Albion  ;  then,  they  could  walk  from  there, 
and  be  at  home  before  dark. 

Such  a  happy  day  was  seldom  passed  by  Ann,  as 
this  never-to-be-forgotten  Fourth  of  July. 

She  sometimes  went  to  Sunday-school  at  Albion,  and 
she  loved  her  teachers,  Miss  Vinton  and  Miss  Glad- 
ding ;  they  kept  millinery  and  dressmaking  rooms 
over  the  company's  store  at  Albion,  and  they  were 
much  liked  by  all  in  their  Christian  endeavors,  and 
charitable  work. 

During  the  summer,  quite  a  number  of  Mary 
John's  friends  go  to  the  "Shore,"  near  Rocky  Point, 
not  far  from  Providence;  and  Mary,  thinking  Ann 
would  be  quite  handy  to  have  to  wait  on  her,  con- 
cluded to  take  her  with  her.  She  really  treated  her 
quite  nicely,  allowing  her  to  play  around  with  the 
other  children. 

Carrie  Foote  very  much  wanted  Ann  should  go 
home  with  her,  and  Capt.  John  said  he  would  be 
going  in  town  before  many  days,  and  would  bring 
her  home  ;  he  ''  guessed  wife  wouldn't  care." 

A  Mrs.  Carr  and  her  son,  Vincent,  were  there 
from  Providence,  also,  auntie  Munroe ;  the  Barnes' 
from  Lime  Rock  ;  also,  the  Dexter's  and  Lindsey's, 
and  Dr.  Humes  and  his  family ;  Clawford  Martin 
and  his  uncle  Daniel,  and  many  friends  of  the  John 


242  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

family ;  and  the  good,  old-fashioned  Rhode  Island 
clam-bake  was  enjoyed. 

Capt.  John  said  it  always  made  him  feel  ten  years 
younger,  to  smell  \\\&  salt  water  even. 

"And  now,  Ann,"  said  Carrie,  "  you  can  finish 
out  your  visit  you  were  making  when  you  had  to  go 
home,  because  your  aunt  died.  Didn't  you  feel 
awful?  if  my  aunt  Mary  should  die,  I  would  cry  my 
eyes  out." 

Ann  told  her  that  her  aunt  Phebe  had  not  seen 
her  as  much,  and  did  not  love  her  as  Carrie's  aunt 
Mary  did  her,  but  she  was  sorry  to  have  her  die  ;  so 
Ann  went  home  with  Carrie.  The  next  day,  Mrs. 
Foote  had  occasion  to  send  a  package  to  the  widow 
Pratt,  but  her  son  Leonard  was  quite  sick  with  the 
measles,  and  Carrie  could  not  go  as  she  had  never 
had  them.  Ann  said  she  could  go,  as  she  remem- 
bered the  way.  So  she  went,  with  many  cautions 
from  Carrie  not  to  get  run  over,  or  lost,  as  she  was 
not  used  to  city  ways.  As  Ann  passed  through 
Mrs.  Pratt's  kitchen  to  the  sitting-room,  she  noticed 
the  two  colored  women  at  work,  and  a  little  tot  run- 
ning round  ;  it  was  the  little  Chloe  she  had  seen  at 
Loring's  house. 

"Ann,  how  is  this?''  said  Mrs.  Pratt;  "this 
young  gentleman  has  the  measles,  and  I  am  afraid 
you  will  catch  them.  The  girls  ought  not  to  have 
allowed  you  to  be  so  exposed." 

But  Ann  was  very  happy  to  say,  that,  when  Sarah 
Richardson  from  Michigan  was  on  a  visit  to  her 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  243 

aunt  Deborah,  she  caught  them  from  her,  and  had 
them  very  hard. 

So  the  kind  lady  received  the  errand,  and  gave 
her  a  nice  orange,  and  Ann  went  back  pleased 
enough  that  she  could  find  her  way  around  town. 

Carrie  told  her  she  did  not  believe  she  could  find 
her  way,  over  the  India  Bridge,  way  down  by  the 
Tockwarton  House. 

"  What  kind  of  a  house  is  that  ? " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  almost  as  big  as  the  Arcade.  The 
bridge  is  covered ;  you  go  over  on  one  side  and 
come  back  on  the  other." 

While  Ann  was  there,  Carrie's  father  took  the 
girls  out  for  a  walk,  and  went  down  to  the  bridge, 
where  they  could  see  all  kinds  of  boats.  This,  Ann 
thought  the  most  pleasing  sight  she  had  ever  seen. 
She  said  she  should  always  remember  the  verse  she 
had  read  in  the  Bible,  where  it  says,  "  they  that  go 
down  to  the  sea  in  ships,  that  do  business  in  great 
waters  "  —  "  I  have  forgotten  the  rest,  Carrie ;  I  will 
tell  you  the  rest  some  other  time.  Just  then  they 
had  to  stop,  for  a  long  string  of  horses,  one  before 
the  other,  were  drawing  great  loads  across  the  square. 

"  Those  teams  are  filled  with  goods  taken  from 
the  vessels  which  come  here  to  the  wharves.  Men 
in  that  business  are  called  stevedores."  Mr.  Foote 
kindly  explained  everything  he  could  think  of,  for 
the  benefit  of  Ann  in  particular. 

Brown  University  Ann  looked  upon  with  much  in- 
terest, as  from  there  came  the  passionate  Spencer 
Whitman. 


244  THREE   HOLES    IN    A   CHIMNEY, 

When  they  arrived  at  Carrie's  home  they  found 
Capt.  John  and  Deborah  waiting  ;  they  had  unex- 
pectedly been  called  to  a  meeting  appointed  by 
John  Wilbur,  a  man  leading  in  opposite  views  to 
Joseph  John  Gurney.  This  man  Wilbur  lived  in 
Hopkinton,  R.  I.  His  views  were  in  unison  with  the 
ancient  customs  and  manners  of  friends,  thus  form- 
ing somewhat  of  a  division. 

Some  were  called  Gurneyites  and  the  others  Wil- 
burites. 

Ann  must  now  go  home  and  go  to  work.  Debo- 
rah said  she  supposed  she  had  got  to  be  very  lazy, 
being  away  so  much  ;  but  Ann  had  learned  a  great 
deal.  She  loved  to  listen  to  the  glowing  accounts 
Deborah  gave  of  the  places  she  had  visited  when  on 
her  journey  out  west.  She  would  tell  her  friends  of 
the  beautiful  Niagara  and  the  Table  Rock  ;  also,  of 
the  busy  Saratoga,  and  all  about  the  wonderful  prai- 
ries and  the  Delevan  House  where  George  John 
was  then  living,  and  how  his  wife  cried  for  joy  when 
she  saw  them  coming,  she  had  been  so  homesick  ; 
and  that  they  called  the  little  boy  born  out  in  Ohio 
the  "  little  buckeye  boy."  She  also  told  of  the  visit 
they  had  made  her  niece  whose  husband  was  at  that 
time  lieutenant-governor  of  Michigan,  and  of  the 
many  times  she  had  to  express  her  opinion  on 
slavery  in  the  very  teeth  of  ^lave-holders.  Some 
would  not  listen  to  her  at  all ;  her  talk  was  so  plain, 
that  had  she  been  a  man  she  would  have  been  chal- 
lenged to  fight  more  than  one  duel. 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  245 


CHAPTER  XI. 

ONE  very  pleasant  morning,  Capt.  John  was  deter- 
mined to  drive  a  colt  which  he  had,  and  which  was 
not  thoroughly  broken.  In  vain  Deborah  declared 
that  father  would  get  killed,  or  hurt  at  least,  and 
that  he  had  better  let  Daniel  or  Clawford  drive  him  ; 
but  Capt.  John  had  his  way  for  once,  at  least.  He 
had  not  got  half  way  to  the  Lapham  house,  before 
he  was  thrown  out  and  quite  seriously  hurt.  Acsah 
Kelly  was  there,  and  she  seemed  to  know  just  what 
to  do. 

Harvey  Gill  was  at  work  for  his  aunt  Deborah  for 
a  few  weeks,  and  his  cousin  was  on  a  visit.  Mary 
John  was  over  to  her  sister's,  on  the  old  place. 

Harvey  went  to  Providence  for  Dr.  Parsons,  and 
everybody  had  to  go  somewhere,  or  do  something. 

One  of  Capt.  John's  shoulders,  and  one  hand  were 
hurt  very  badly,  so  for  a  long  time  he  had  to  be 
waited  upon  ;  his  hand  never  got  back  into  shape 
again  ;  he  was  also  much  bruised  by  the  fall,  as  he 
weighed  over  two  hundred  pounds. 

During  his  sickness,  the  neighbors  called  and 
offered  any  assistance.  Friend  Willard,  with  his 
sugar-loaf-shaped  hat,  and  home-made,  butternut- 
colored  suit  which  his  wife  Susan  spun  and 


246  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

wove  herself;  and,  also,  colored  the  wool  of  which 
they  were  made.  Judge  Manning,  with  his  suit  of 
buff  linen,  or  nankeen,  which  he  wore  in  warm 
weather.  Most  beautifully  laundered  were  Judge 
Manning's  clothes,  by  his  very  neat  wife  and 
three  daughters.  Capt.  Sam  Clark  came  quite  often 
to  inquire  after  neighbor  John's  health,  and  would 
sit  and  talk  politics,  while  Capt.  John  would  talk  pol- 
itics, tell  stories  and  sea-faring  yarns,  and  laugh  so 
hearty,  that  it  really  seemed  good  to  have  the  old 
captain  sick. 

Phebe  Barker  came,  as  she  had  not  been  to  see 
her  aunt  Deborah  for  a  long  time.  She  had  been 
staying  with  her  cousin  Jane,  and  Horatio  Dudley 
was  coming  up  to  stay  a  week.  Phebe  had  heard 
some  news.  She  said  that  Samuel  Gill's  daughter 
was  going  to  be  married  ;  and,  certainly,  her  intended 
must  be  a  great  deal  older,  for  cousin  Mary  was 
not  yet  twenty.  Phebe  was  not  a  little  surprised,  to 
hear  that  Viola  Lapham  and  George  Bean  had  drove 
down  to  Richard  Scott's  house,  at  Moshassuck,  and 
got  married  quite  on  the  sly. 

Every  spring,  Ann  would  have  potatoes  to  sprout ; 
she  would  sit  and  pull  off  the  sprouts  of  potatoes 
which  were  to  be  sold  for  eating.  She  had  her  stent, 
so  many  bushels  a  day  ;  it  was  pretty  hard  work  for 
her  to  sit  down  cellar  alone  all  day,  but  it  only  had 
to  be  done  once  a  year. 

Every  spring,  Deborah  went  around  her  quince- 
bushes  and  bent  the  low  limbs  down  and  buried 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  247 

them,  so  that  they  would  take  root  and  make  young 
bushes  to  transplant. 

Just  before  haying  she  would  take  Ann  and  go 
into  the  different  lots,  and  they  would  pull  out  all 
the  white-weed,  or  daisies,  as  it  is  called. 

As  Ann  grew  older,  Deborah  would  talk  with  her 
quite  pleasantly  for  a  few  minutes,  sometimes;  but 
just  as  Ann  would  begin  to  feel  happy,  Deborah 
would  begin  to  scold  her  about  something,  and  it 
would  end  in  a  cuff,  or  something  worse.  She 
asked  Ann  if  she  always  picked  up  a  pin  when  she 
saw  one  on  the  floor.  She  knew  that  she  meant  to, 
but  she  remembered  she  was  in  a  great  hurry  once 
and  neglected  to  stop,  so  she  told  Deborah  she  did ; 
only,  if  she  was  in  an  awful  hurry  she  didn't  stop. 
But  she  had  to  go  to  bed  supperless  for  being  so 
wasteful. 

If  one  bean  was  found  dropped,  she  had  to  go  up 
stairs  and  put  it  where  it  belonged. 

Deborah  also  taught  her  that  when  she  made  a 
bed  she  must  put  on  a  clean  apron  and  wash  her 
hands,  and  be  careful  and  take  two  chairs  and  lay 
the  clothes  upon  them  and  let  the  bed  lay  to  air  for 
an  hour  or  more.  She  never  was  allowed  to  put 
away  her  work  without  knitting  in  the  middle  of  her 
seam  needle.  Deborah  had  her  gather  the  tops  of 
the  men's  shirt-sleeves; ;  she  must  take  up  two  threads 
and  leave  four.  All  the  rents  in  her  dresses  and 
aprons  njust  be  darned  up  instead  of  seamed.  She 


248  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

also  had  the  milk  things  to  wash  ;  they  must  first 
be  rinsed  in  cold  water,  then  in  warm,  then  in  hot 
water,  then  scalded  and  turned  down  on  boards  fixed 
for  the  purpose.  Deborah  taught  her  to  wash  dishes 
in  warm  water  and  then  scald  them;  the  knife- 
handles  were  not  to  be  wet.  All  these  things  were 
very  nice  for  her  to  learn,  and,  when  taught  in  kind- 
ness, very  pleasant. 

Some  years,  two  hundred  bushels  of  quinces  had 
to  be  picked  and  prepared  for  market. 

It  so  happened  one  day  that  a  bushel  of  meal  was 
needed  by  Deborah,  and  the  horse  had  gone  away, 
so  there  seemed  no  way  of  getting  the  corn  to  the 
grist-mill;  but  as  it. was  her  custom  to  overcome  all 
obstacles,  she  told  Ann  to  go  over  to  Job  Manning's 
and  see  if  he  would  let  her  have  his  horse  to 
go  down  to  Albion  to  the  grist-mill.  Deborah  did 
not  want  to  stop  her  work  and  thus  waste  valuable 
time,  so  she  concluded  to  send  Ann.  In  about  half 
an  hour  after  she  had  sent  for  the  horse,  she  saw 
her  coming  into  the  yard  leading  old  Peter.  She 
had  never  led  a  horse  before,  and  she  was  so  afraid 
that  he  would  step  on  her  feet  that  she  gave  him  a 
long  line  and  then  walked  backward  most  of  the 
way. 

Deborah  took  a  bushel  of  corn  and  put  it  into  a 
bag  and  threw  it  across  old  Peter's  back,  so  it 
would  be  evenly  balanced.  "  Now,  Ann,"  she  said, 
"  thee  lead  that  horse  down  to  the  grist  mill  at 
Albion,  and  don't  thee  be  gazing  around  or  stop  to 
talk  with  the  children,  but  come  right  back." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  249 

It  was  over  a  mil*  she  had  to  go  and  the  sun  was 
burning  hot.  The  sand  it  seemed  would  burn  her 
feet.  If  the  bag  should  fall  off  the  horse's  back  she 
never  could  get  it  on  again  and  she  could  not  leave 
it  in  the  road.  Not  a  house  was  there  until  she 
reached  the  cottage  where  Deborah  used  to  live, 
but  which  was  now  occupied  by  the  Elsbree's.  She 
did  not  see  anyone  until  she  reached  the  village  ; 
she  knew  very  well  the  boys  would  laugh  at  her,  she 
was  so  awkward  ;  she  would  have  laughed  herself 
had  she  not  felt  so  anxious.  No  boys  were  in  sight. 
Some  men  passed  her  and  she  heard  them  say, 
''  Canadians  they  ain't  a  patch.  Their  gals  don't 
have  to  lead  horses." 

At  last  the  bridge  over  the  canal 'was  reached  and 
old  Peter  seemed  to  step  very  carefully,  as  if  he 
knew  just  how  Ann  felt.  The  mill  stood  near  the 
bridge  and  not  far  from  the  dam,  a  little  way  north 
of  the  factory. 

"  Well,  well !  "  said  the  miller,  "  I  guess  you  ain't 
much  used  to  a  horse,  be  yer  ?  you  ain't  Job  Man- 
ning's gal,  but  this  is  old  Peter,  I  see." 

Ann  told  him  how  it  happened  that  she  led  old 
Peter  to  the.  mill. 

"  I  s'pose  you're  in  a  hurry,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Ann,  sitting  down  and  looking  at  the 
water  as  it  went  pouring  over  the  dam.  "This  is 
nice,''  she  thought ;  just  then  looking  up,  she  saw 
horses  one  before  the  other  with  a  long  rope  attached. 
They  were  on  a  tow-path,  drawing  a  canal-boat 


250  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

laden  with  bales  of  cloth.  Further  down,  great 
gates  opened  for  them  to  pass  through,  and  then 
shut. 

The  noise  of  the  grist-mill  had  ceased,  and  Ann 
looked  around  just  in  time  to  see  the  man  take  out 
some  of  the  meal  in  a  measure. 

"  This  meal  is  what  yer  call  toll ;  that's  all  I  git 
for  my  trouble,  yer  see.  Then,  you  live  at  Deborah 
Gill's,  I  take  it?" 

"  That  was  her  name ;  it's  John  now,  since  she 
got  married." 

"  Yes,  I  know  'em  ;  I  most  always  git  her  name 
Gill  ;  I  forgit  the  old  maid's  married.  Then  you 
live  there,  don't  yer?  " 

"Yes." 

"  You  ain't  the  gal  that  Deborah  took,  that 
belonged  to  Ben  May,  be  yer?  "  Ann  told  him  that 
her  name  was  May,  and  that  her  father's  name  was 
Benjamin. 

"You  had  a  brother  there,  too,  didn't  yer.'  he 
used  to  come  down  here,  but  I  ain't  seen  him  for 
two  or  three  years.  Both  on  yer  look  like  yer 
father.  I  use'  to  know  him  ;  he  was  a  good  accom- 
modatin'  man,  but  he  would  go  off  and  leave  his 
work  sometimes.  Yer  mother  was  Sally  Southwick  ; 
she  was  the  handsomest  gal  I  ever  laid  my  eyes  on. 
I  use'  to  know  'em  all !  George,  he  went  out  west ; 
and  David,  his  brother,  fell  off  a  bridge  out  there 
somewhere,  and  was  drowned  before  they  could  git 
him.  I  believe  your  uncle  George  died  out  to  Cali- 
forny." 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  251 

Ann  felt  in  a  hurry,  yet  she  wanted  to  hear  every 
word  the  miller  had  to  say. 

"  Yer've  got  to  be  mighty  careful  or  that  bag'll  fall 
off; "  and  then,  as  if  he  had  something  more  to  say, 
he  led  the  horse  over  the  bridge,  and  nearly  up  into 
the  village.  Pointing  to  a  blacksmith  shop  'behind 
the  factor}'',  he  said,  "  there  is  where  your  father  use' 
to  work.  What's  yer  first  name,  little  gal  ?  " 

"  Ann." 

"  Ann  May !  yes,  yer  the  little  gal  Deborah  ducks 
and  shuts  up  in  the  ash-hole,  and  cuts  up  all  manner 
of  shines  with,  ain't  yer?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  you  tell  her,  the  next  time  she  sends  you 
down  here,  to  put  some  shoes  on  yer  feet ;  it's  a 
shame  for  a  little  gal  to  go  barefoot  like  that." 

Ann  took  the  halter  and  started  for  home  ;  the 
miller  looking  after  her,  probably  to  see  if  any- 
one troubled  her.  She  met  some  boys,  one  of  them, 
the  agent's  son,  Elisha,  said,  "  that  bag  will  fall  off 
if  you  are  not  careful,  Ann  May."  It  kept  on  all 
right  until  she  got  half  way  up  the  hill,  almost  to  the 
main  road,  when  off  it  went  on  the  ground.  She 
triexlto  lift  it,  but  could  not  raise  it  off  the  ground, 
much  less,  on  to  Peter's  back.  She  sat  down  and 
tried  to  think  how  to  get  that  meal  on  that  horse's 
back.  First,  she  rolled  it  up  on  a  bank  beside  the 
road,  and  then  led  Peter  close  to  the  bank.  She 
would  get  him  within  a  yard  of  the  bag,  and  then 
try  to  roll  it  as  near  him  as  possible,  and  try  to  lift 


25 2  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

it,  but  down  went  the  bag  on  the  ground.  Now,  if 
Peter  would  only  lie  down  !  She  tried  to  make  him 
do  so,  but  he  only  tried  to  feed  on  the  grass  which 
grew  along  the  side  of  the  road.  She  then  thought 
if  she  could  only  get  a  big  rail,  and  put  one  end  on 
the  bank,  and  the  other  on  the  horse,  she  might  roll 
the  bag  up  the  bank  on  to  the  rail,  and,  perhaps 
she  could  slip  it  along  on  to  his  back,  then  pull  out 
the  rail  and  leave  the  bag.  So,  to  the  old  Virginia 
fence  she  went,  and  got  a  rail  and  fixed  it  nicely  > 
but,  as  Peter  kept  stepping*  to  get  the  grass,  by  the 
time  she  had  it  fixed,  the  bag  of  meal  was  quite  a 
distance  from  the  horse. 

"  Now,  whoa,  Peter !  'till  I  get  the  bag."  But 
Peter  did  not  seem  to  hear ;  he  kept  slowly 
moving  along,  picking  at  the  grass,  when  down 
went  the  rail !  In  this  way,  Ann  must  have  tried  for 
nearly  an  hour,  and  at  last  she  sat  down  and  cried. 
The  sun  was  pouring  down  on  this  sandy  road  and 
not  a  tree  was  there  for  her  to  get  under.  No  one 
happened  to  pass  that  way. 

At  last,  Peter  got  tired  nibbling  and  let  Ann  lead 
him  near  the  bank.  She  then  found  a  wider  rail  and 
fixed  it  the  same  as  before.  Peter  stood  still,  so  at 
last  she  got  the  bushel  of  meal  on  his  back  ;  but 
when  half  way  down  the  hill,  off  came  the  bag  again. 
Ann,  now  so  near  home,  thought  she  would  go  and 
get  Deborah  to  come  and  help  her,  but  she  saw  a 
man  coming  up  the  hill  in  .an  open  wagon,  so  she 
waited. 


OR   A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  253 

The  man  stopped  and  said,  "  What  have  you  got 
there,  young  woman  ? " 

Ann  told  him  what  had  happened,  so  he  very 
kindly  got  out  of  his  wagon  and  put  the  bag  on  old 
Peter's  back.  She  thanked  him  and  went  on  her 
way  rejoicing.  She  recognized  him  as  Fenner  Mow- 
rey. 

She  opened  the  gate  and  led  old  Peter  in,  up  to 
the  rock-maple  tree  near  the  kitchen  door. 

Deborah  had  been  watching  for  her  for  the  last 
two  hours.  "  Well  done,  Ann !  Thee  has  been 
idling  away  thy  time  nicely."  But  Ann  told  her 
what  had  happened.  Deborah  said  that  another 
time  she  would  go  herself,  and  Ann  heartily  hoped 
she  would. 

She  then  had  to  lead  old  Peter  home  and  tell  Job 
Manning  she  was  very  much  obliged. 

The  next  day,  Deborah  went  to  the  funeral  of  a 
child  belonging  to  Harris,  the  cooper,  who  lived 
not  far  from  the  Lime  Rock  neighborhood.  Ann 
was  left  to  keep  house.  At  night,  when  Deborah 
and  the  rest  of  the  family  came  home,  Mary  John 
went  to  the  pantry  to  get  a  plate  of  cold  meat  — 
small  pieces  which  had  been  left  from  the  table  —  but 
it  was  nearly  all  gone.  She  spoke  to  Deborah  about 
it.  Deborah  accused  Ann  of  taking  it,  but  she 
knew  she  had  not  been  in  the  closet  at  all,  but  had 
knit  all  the  time,  trying  to  get  her  stent  done.  In 
vain,  Ann  told  her  she  knew  nothing  about  it.  Deb- 
orah took  her  out  in  the  wood-house,  and  took  the 


254  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMXEV, 

bunch  of  sticks  and  gave  her  an  awful  whipping  for 
taking  the  meat,  and  then  saying  she  didn't. 

She  would  whip  her  and  rest,  and  then  begin  again. 
She  told  Ann  at  last,  that,  if  she  would  own  that 
she  took  the  meat,  she  would  not  whip  her  any 
more,  but  would  feed  her  on  cayenne  pepper,  and 
send  her  to  bed  without  any  supper  ;  if  not,  she 
would  put  her  in  the  ash-hole  and  whip  her  again 
the  next  morning. 

Ann  considered  a  moment,  and  then  told  Deborah 
she  would  say  that  she  took  it,  but  she  hoped  she 
would  not  be  struck  down  dead  as  Ananias  was,  for 
lying. 

When  Deborah  had  finished  punishing  Ann,  she 
had  occasion  to  go  into  the  pantry ;  going  toward 
the  window,  she  stepped  on  something  and  slipped, 
hurting  herself  quite  badly.  A  light  was  brought, 
and  there  on  the  floor  was  all  the  meat,  some  of  it 
gnawed,  plainly  showing  that  a  cat  had  done  all  the 
mischief. 

The  next  day,  Ann  was  kept  in  the  ash-hole  for 
telling  a  lie  ;  and  she  must  look  over  the  chapter  in 
the  Bible  that  tells  about  Ananias,  and  repeat  the 
whole  to  Deborah  ;  and  if  she  would  continue  to  tell 
lies  that  way,  she  might  be  served  the  same  way. 

The  next  winter,  Barton  Ballou's  family  moved  to 
Bellingham,  Mass.,  as  he  was  teaching  school  there. 

Deborah  had  an  errand  to  send  Elizabeth  Rath- 
burn,  which  was  very  urgent.  Capt.  John  said  he 
would  take  Ann,  and  they  would  have  a  sleigh-ride. 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  255 

The  Ballou's  lived  in  a  cottage  situated  on  the 
right-hand  side  of  the  road,  leading  from  Belling- 
Jiam  Centre  to  Franklin,  about  a  mile  from  the 
Centre  ;  in  after  years,  the  same  house  was  occupied 
by  the  Cherry  family. 

It  was  a  terrible  cold  day,  but  the  sleighing  was 
fine !  and,  old  Betsy  was  not  long  going  the  twelve 
miles.  The  day  was  not  half  long  enough  ! 

The  Ballou's  had  not  seen  Ann  since  Deborah 
went  out  west.  So  many  questions  were  asked  by 
the  children  ;  "  Ann,  do  you  remember  this  and  that 
mischief?"  which  had  been  cut  up,  the  summer  she 
lived  with  them  in  Cumberland.  All  their  dolls,  and 
picture-books  and  playthings  were  taken  out  to  show 
Ann ;  now,  that  she  was  near  eleven  years  old, 
books  of  stories  and  pictures  she  most  admired.  If 
she  found  any  of  them  did  not  know  how  to  knit, 
she  offered  to  teach  them  ;  and,  really  thought  their 
education  had  been  terribly  neglected. 

Racing  round,  and  playing  in  the  old-fashioned 
kitchen,  Ann  caught  her  dress  on  a  nail.  "Pound 
calico  is  rotten,  for  Lydia  said  so,"  said  Ann  ;  "  and 
aunt  Deborah  says  the  slaves  won't  wear  it."  But 
it  was  very  neatly  darned  up  before  Capt.  John  said, 
"  come,  Ann,  put  on  your  things  ;  we  must  go  now.'* 
Ann  never  forgot  her  pleasant  visit  at  Bellingham. 
The  summer  of '41,  Deborah  hired  a  man  by  the 
name  of  Darwin  Pickering.  He  had  not  been  there 
long,  before  he  found  out  that  Deborah  was  not  only 
cross  to  Ann,  but  cruel.  Ann  was  mending  her  torn 


256  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

apron,  one  day,  as  she  sat  in  the  kitchen  while  Deb- 
orah was  making  brown  bread,  and  doing  the  work 
around  the  house,  when,  suddenly,  Ann's  needle 
caught  on  something  and  flew  out  of  her  hand,  and 
fell  into  one  of  the  cracks  in  the  floor.  Deborah 
asked  her  what  she  had  lost. 

"  My  needle  has  gone  down  that  crack,  and  I 
can't  see  it." 

"  Very  well !  "  said  Deborah ;  "  thee  go  and  tell 
Darwin  to  come  in  ;  I  want  to  see  him." 

"  Darwin,  thee  get  the  pounding-barrel  up,  and 
set  it  on  the  steps  by  the  well ;  I  want  it.  Fill  it 
full  of  water;  I  want  it  to  use."  Then,  turning  to 
Ann,  she  said,  "  thee  wash  up  these  dishes  and 
then  come  to  me  ;  I  want  thee." 

Darwin  drew  the  the  water,  and  then  went  about 
his  work.  Ann  had  not  got  the  dishes  quite  done, 
when  Deborah  went  out  the  back  door  near  the  well, 
and,  calling  Ann  to  her,  said,  "  thee  sees  that  barrel 
of  water,  don't  thee  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  to  put  thee  in  it,  and  then  see 
if  thee  will  lose  another  needle."  And,  in  an  in- 
stant, she  caught  Ann  up  and  put  her  into  the 
barrel,  head  first.  She  screamed  as  Deborah  took 
her  up,  and  Hannah  Gushing,  who  lived  in  the  shop, 
ran  out ;  and  Darwin,  hearing  Ann  scream,  came  to 
see  what  was  the  matter ;  Capt.  John,  also,  who  had 
been  out  waiting  to  see  the  stage-driver,  to  send  a 
message,  came  in  as  Deborah  took  Ann  out  of  the 


M/IKf-         <W>  Au  /^  1^1  V         1A$ 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  257 

water.  They  all  thought  she  was  nearly  dead. 
They  took  her  out  of  Deborah's  hands,  and  turned 
the  water  out  of  the  barrel,  in  much  less  time  than  it 
took  to  put  it  in.  Ann  was  carefully  laid  over  it, 
and  rolled  on  the  barrel  as  directed  by  Capt.  John. 
Everything  was  done  to  restore  the  unconscious  girl. 

Capt.  John  was  heard  to  say,  "if  you  want  to  kill 
her,  wife,  why  don't  you  do  it,  and  not  torment  her 
to  death  ?  " 

Darwin  was  very  saucy,  Deborah  thought,  when 
he  told  her  he  wanted  his  pay  for  what  he  had  done, 
and  snid  that  if  she  wanted  water  drawn  for  such 
purposes,  she  could  draw  it  herself.  He  went  up 
stairs,  packed  his  trunk,  and  went  directly  to  Cum- 
berland and  entered  a  complaint  to  the  selectmen, 
entreating  them  to  see  that  Ann  had  better  treat- 
ment. 

Some  men  called  on  Deborah,  and,  after  a  private 
conversation  with  her,  they  left  seeming  quite  satis- 
fied, and  remarking  that  it  made  a  great  difference, 
hearing  both  sides  of  a  story. 

"  You  can't  always  tell  by  what  you  hear,"  said 
Mr.  Sessions,  one  of  the  officers  of  the  town. 

Deborah  told  her  side  of  the  story  with  an  appear- 
ance of  Christian  truth  that  could  not  be  doubted. 

The  winter  of  '41  and  '42  passed  like  many  others 
in  Deborah's  household  —  work  and  scold,  scold 
and  work.  But,  really,  no  one  was  much  the  worse 
for  that,  except  Ann,  as  the  other  members  of  the 
family  got  along  much  as  they  pleased ;  all  were 


258  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

too  well-bred  to  pick  up  or  notice  little  things 
which  did  not  happen  to  suit  them. 

As  will  be  remembered,  this  winter,  which  was 
previous  to  Harrison's  taking  the  presidential  chair, 
was  one  of  great  interest  to  all,  and  especially  to 
politicians. 

Capt.  John  could  hardly  wait  for  Friend  Tourtel- 
lott  to  toss  the  paper  over  the  gate.  He  would  sit 
and  read,  while  Deborah  and  Ann  worked  on  har- 
nesses for  the  Manville  factory.  And  now,  the 
Dorr  rebellion  was  the  great  subject  of  interest ; 
although  Thomas  Wilson  Dorr  was  a  cousin  of  Capt. 
John's,  he  was  not  at  all  in  favor  of  his  trying  to 
take  the  seat  of  government  without  being  elected 
in  the  usual  way,  and  not  by  a  mob,  he  said. 

The  spring  of  '42,  was  also  quite  an  eventful  one 
at  the  Manning's.  One  morning,  Emma  Manning 
was  rejoiced  beyond  expression,  when  her  father 
said  to  her,  "  well,  Emma,  did  you  know  we  have 
a  little  sister  for  you  now  ?  " 

What  to  say,  or  how  to  act,  Emma  hardly  knew. 
Such  a  pretty  little  round  faced  baby !  —  and  then 
what  to  name  her !  It  always  takes  longer  to  name 
a  girl  than  it  does  a  boy  ;  but,  at  all  events,  she 
must  have  a  name1.  So  they  called  the  little  stranger 
Aphelia  —  a  pretty  name,  Ann  thought,  and,  so  differ- 
ent from  the  other  names  which  were  familiar  to 
her. 

Deborah  said  that  Ann  was  bewitched  to  see 
Olive's  baby ;  the  baby  was  well  enough,  but,  she 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  259 

no  need  to  waste  so  much  valuable  time  in  running 
after  a  little  thing  that  didn't  know  enough  to  hold 
its  head  up. 

"  Thee  can't  go  over  to  Emma's  to-day,"  said 
Deborah  to  Ann,  one  fine  May  morning,  "  as  Mary 
expects  company,  and  Anne  Jenkins,  and  John 
Meader  and  his  wife  Elizabeth  will  be  here  after 
meeting.  Thee  wash  down  the  cellar  stairs,  and  the 
floor  of  the  milk  cellar." 

John  Meader  kept  a  grocery  store  in  Providence. 
He  often  took  potatoes  and  apples  and  eggs  —  any- 
thing Deborah  had  to  spare.  She  dried  great 
quantities  of  apples  and  corn ;  and,  also,  sold  him 
a  great  many  quinces.  She  had  a  measure  with  the 
bottom  pushed  up  on  the  inside,  so  if  the  measure 
was  heaped  she  would  not  lose  anything  by  it. 

Dr.  Wilde's  daughters,  of  Boston,  came,  and 
with  them  a  Mr.  Smith,  a  friend  of  theirs.  He  was 
clerk  of  the  Superior  Court  of  Providence,  and  a 
very  agreeable  gentleman. 

The  young  ladies  were  dressed  very  tastefully,  in 
the  fashion  of  the  day.  One  wore  a  white  fan  waist, 
with  buff  skirt  and  sash  ;  the  other,  a  buff  fan  waist, 
with  blue  skirt  and  sash. 

They  roamed  all  over  the  farm,  and  in  the  woods 
the  other  side  of  the  road,  cutting  their  names  on 
trees.  When  it  came  time  to  return  to  Providence, 
one  of  them  said  to  Ann,  "  I  almost  envy  you  this 
quiet,  happy  home."  But  Ann  thought  the  young 
lady  much  happier  as  she  was. 


260  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

It  so  happened,  that  Jane  Dudley  wanted 
Ann  to  make  her  a  visit,  and  go  to  school  with  her 
daughter  Lizzie.  She  knew  something  of  the  hard 
time  she  had  with  her  aunt,  for  Horatio  had  been 
there  enough  to  know.  So  it  came  about  that  Ann 
went  to  visit  Lizzie  Dudley  at  Central  Falls,  R.  I. 
She  could  go  to  school  a  little  while  before  the  sum- 
mer vacation. 

The  Dudley's  lived  in  a  large  square-roofed 
house  on  Jenks  Street.  Lizzie's  uncle  Francis  lived 
up  stairs.  He  was  a  fine  musician,  and  was  organ- 
ist at  the  church  where  the  Dudleys  attended. 

Ann  was  delighted  with  her  new  home  ;  if,  only 
for  a  little  while,  it  would  help  her  along  on  her 
hard  journey  through  childhood  and  dependence. 

The  Dorr  rebellion  was  now  at  its  height,  and 
when  martial  law  was  enforced  in  Pawtucket,  the 
girls  scarcely  dared  to  venture  down  street.  Yet 
they  loved  to  get  into  grandpa  Dudley's  house, 
which  opened  directly  off  the  sidewalk  (now  Dr. 
Wheaton's  ofBce)  and  look  at  the  soldiers  on  their 
respective  beats.  When  the  story  was  told  in  great 
excitement  that  a  man  had  been  killed  the  night 
previous,  the  children  were  willing  to  stay  within 
doors  as  they  were  desired  to  do. 

Now  and  then,  a  woman  more  courageous  than 
the  rest  would  try  to  find  out  what  news  she 
could,  and,  in  that  way,  help  her  party  interest  as 
much  as  possible.  A  Mrs.  French,  a  delicate,  blue- 
eyed  woman,  who  was  living  on  Constitution  Hill, 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  261 

in  Providence,  and  a  lady  friend  of  hers,  took  the 
boards  up  off  the  floor,  and  hid  all  the  fire-arms 
which  were  in  the  house,  so  that  if  search  should 
be  made  for  them,  none  could  be  found.  The  same 
lady  also  carried  the  news  on  Benefit  Street,  of  Dorr's 
capture,  which  caused  much  disappointment  on  the 
part  of  his  followers.  Finally,  law  and  order  were 
restored,  and  the  wishes  of  the  people  were,  in  a 
measure  realized,  without  more  disturbance  or  loss 
of  life. 

Although  Deborah  disapproved  of  fighting,  she 
very  kindly  waited  upon  the  soldiers,  inviting  them, 
with  Capt.  John,  to  stop  at  her  house  for  refresh- 
ments on  the  morning  of  their  march  from  Provi- 
dence to  Chepachet,  where,  at  that  time,  a  battle 
seemed  inevitable. 

Ann  had  been  staying  with  the  Dudleys  some 
three  weeks,  when,  one  morning,  two  quite  young 
ladies  called  and  inquired  if  Ann  May  was 
staying  there.  She  was  not  a  little  surprised  to 
see  her  cousin  Lizzie,  and  a  Miss  Dunham.  Ann 
and  Lizzie  had  not  met  since  they  kissed  each  other 
good-bye  on  the  wharf  at  Newport.  She  told  Ann 
that  her  mother  had  married  again,  and  that  they 
were  now  living  at  Valley  Falls  ;  that  Ann's  brother 
James  was  married,  and  the  other  boys  were  with 
him.  She  also  told  her  that  her  own  father  (Ann's) 
was  married.  Thus,  Ann  found  that  she  was  not 
quite  as  motherless,  but  felt  really  just  as  friendless 
as  before.  Ann  felt  really  thankful  when  she  was 


262  THREE   HOLES    IN    A    CHIMNEY, 

told  that  her  brother's  wife,  and  her  brother  Jona- 
than had  been  baptized,  and  had  united  with  the 
church. 

The  week  following  Lizzie's  visit,  a  lady  called 
and  inquired  if  Benjamin  May's  daughter  was  visit- 
ing there.  She  was  told  that  she  was  for  a  few 
weeks.  "  Well,"  said  the  lady,  "  will  you  tell  her 
that  her  mother  desires  to  see  her  ?  " 

Ann  had  no  idea  how  her  new  mother  looked ; 
but  every  pretty,  dark-eyed  little  woman  she  saw, 
she  imagined  that  her  own  mother  must  have 
resembled.  So  her  first  impression,  upon  being 
told  that  her  mother  desired  to  see  her,  was  of  her 
ideal  mother  from  her  Heavenly  home.  She  started 
up,  and  putting  the  baby  Julia  into  the  cradle,  told 
her  to  keep  still,  as  her  mamma  had  laid  down  to 
rest  and  must  not  be  disturbed. 

Ann  thought  she  ought  to  fix  up  a  little,  and, 
really,  she  dreaded  to  meet  her  new  mother.  But 
she  went  into  the  sitting-room,  and  an  elderly  lady 
came  towards  her,  took  her  hand,  and  stooped  to 
kiss  the  astonished  girl.  Still  keeping  her  hand,  she 
exclaimed,  "The  very  image  of  Mr.  May!  I  don't 
need  to  ask  you  if  you  are  Benjamin  May's  daughter. 
But,  my  dear,  what  a  lovely  home  you  have  here  !  " 

Ann  asked  her  new  mother  to  take  off  her  things 
and  have  dinner,  but  she  told  Ann  that  she  had 
been  to  Capt.  John's,  and  had  taken  dinner  there. 
She  told  how  pleased  she  was  with  his  wife,  and  how 
fortunate  Ann  was  to  have  such  a  lovely  home  > 


OR  A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  263 

"  and  she  thinks  so  much  of  you  !  She  said  she 
was  going  to  make  you  a  silk  dress,  another  year, 
and  that  very  likely  you  would  commence  going  to 
Friends'  School,  in  Providence.  If  you  could  be  a 
teacher,  you  know  that  they  make  good  pay,  and  a 
fine  education  will  carry  you  into  good  society,  other 
things  being  equal." 

Mrs.  May,  said  that  Ann's  father  arfd  herself 
would  visit  the  boys,  who  were  now.  at  Exeter,  R.  I. 
She  had  visited  Cumberland,  and  was  more  than 
pleased  with  her  sister's  home  and  surroundings. 
Many  promises  of  a  better  acquaintance  and  motherly 
interest  were  made  by  this  precise,  but  truly  Chris- 
tian step-mother. 

To  make  things  easier,  Mrs.  Dudley  came  in  with 
little  dark-eyed  Julia,  and  talked  over  common 
affairs. 

With  an  affectionate  good-bye,  the  step-mother 
went  away,  leaving  Ann  to  wonder  if  she  could 
ever  love  her,  with  her  rather  stiff,  yet  lady-like  ways. 

Ann  had  so  many  associates,  independent  of  Deb- 
orah's cruel  treatment,  she  would  wonder  if  she 
ever  could  find  friends  away  from  that  neighbor- 
hood. She  forgot  her  troubles  when  away  from 
them,  but  when  in  the  presence  of  Deborah,  a  sour, 
unhappy  look  would  creep  over  her  face  quite  un- 
consciously. 

Ann's  visit  at  Central  Falls  had  been  quite  pleas- 
ant. She  was  very  fond  of  baby  Julia,  if  they  did  all 
say  that  she  was  a  cross  baby,  and  want  her  to  sleep 


264  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

all  the  time  she  could.  The  week  before  Ann  went 
home,  Lizzie  took  her  down  to  her  father's  thread 
factory.  They  went  to  grandpa  Dudley's,  and  Ann 
bade  the  kind,  old  people  good-bye.  They  spent 
one  evening  up  stairs.  Ann  listened  to  the  music 
of  the  piano  as  if  her  very  life  depended  upon  each 
note.  She  was  really  sorry  when  the  next  day  came, 
and  Deborah  brought  home  Horatio.  She  knew 
she  must  return  to  durance  vile. 

Capt.  John's  son  had  moved  back  from  out  West, 
and  a  family  party  was  to  be  given  Thanksgiving 
Day.  All  came  —  the  little  "buckeye,"  .George, 
also,  little  Thomas  Humes  and  the  baby,  John  :  the 
oval-faced  Elizabeth  Humes,  and  the  square-faced, 
but  pleasant,  Ann  John.  All  helped  to  make  merry. 
Some  of  the  company  must  stay  all  night. 

Next  day,  Deborah  gave  little  Thomas  a  doughnut 
for  luncheon.  Ann  was  not  allowed  to  taste  of  any 
kind  of  food  between  meals.  Little  Thomas  put  a 
part  of  his  doughnut  on  the  table  in  the  sitting-room, 
and  then  he  came  and  got  it  and  ate  it  up ;  but 
Deborah  had  seen  it,  and  now  missed  it.  She  said, 
"I  saw  thee  chewing  something,  Ann."  Ann  told 
her  it  was  only  a  thread  she  had  to  mark  her  stent 
with  ;  but  she  was  told  to  go  up  garret,  and  she 
would  come  and  see  to  her  as  soon  as  the  com- 
pany had  gone. 

So  not  long  after  Ann  went  up  stairs,  she  heard 
Deborah  coming.  Telling  Ann  to  hold  her  thumbs 
together,  she  then  tied  them  together ;  getting  a 


OR.    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.          .  265 

chair,  she  threw  a  rope  over  a  beam,  and  tied  Ann 
up  to  the  beam  by  the  thumbs,  so  that  she  just 
rested  her  toes  upon  the  floor.  She  then  whipped 
the  poor,  helpless  girl  with  candle  rods  —  a  bunch 
of  them  usually  lay  on  a  chest,  thus  being  handy  for 
this  woman  to  carry  out  her  Satanic  ugliness. 

Ann  was  now  determined  to  stop  this  business, 
of  being  made  to  lie.  She  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Deborah  could  only  hurt  her  body, 
which  was  now  all  marked  with  her  cruelty. 

After  repeated  blows,  Deborah  said,  "Wilt  thou 
say  thee  ate  the  doughnut  ? " 

"  No !"  said  the  poor  girl;  "I  did  not  touch  It." 

She  then  whipped  her  again,  and  then  went  down 
stairs.  Ann  had  been  trying  to  serve  the  Lord  as 
best  she  knew  how,  and  had  made  up  her  mind  to 
let  Deborah  kill  her  if  she  chose,  but  she  would  not 
lie  again  to  get  rid  of  punishment. 

After  Capt.  John  came,  Deborah  told  him  that 
Ann  had  told  a  lie.  She  told  him  to  go  up  garret, 
and  take  the  candle-rods  and  whip  her  until  she 
said  she  ate  the  doughnut,  and  to  see  if  she  had  tied 
her  up  as  he  did  the  cabin-boys  at  sea. 

The  old  man  came  up  the  garret  stairs,  and,  taking 
a  rod  in  his  hand,  came  toward  the  suffering  child ; 
"  You've  been  lying,  wife  tells  me ;  what  did  you 
do  that  for?"  But  Ann  told  him  the  truth.  He 
stood  and  looked  at  her  a  moment,  bur  did  not 
strike  her,  and  then  went  down  stairs. 

Deborah   came    up  within  an   hour,  and  went   to 


266  THREE    HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

beating  Ann  again ;  but  found  that  she  was  deter- 
mined to  tell  the  same  story,  so  she  untied  her 
hands. 

Such  agony  as  the  poor  child  was  in  !  she  could 
only  wish  that  she  might  die.  She  cried  with  pain, 
but  Deborah  told  her  to  go  down  stairs  and  go  to 
work,  and  she  would  settle  with  her  another  time. 

Ann  told  her  she  could  not  work  if  she  killed  her. 
She  was  sitting  on  the  broad  stair  in  the  sitting-room 
crying  with  pain. 

As  Ann  grew  taller,  her  head  came  above  the 
round  mahogany  table  which  was  kept  between  the 
stairs  and  the  pantry  door  ;  so,  in  order  to  strike 
Ann's  head  when  Deborah  struck  her,  she  did  it 
with  her  left  hand  ;  it  then  struck  the  house.  When 
Ann  was  smaller  she  struck  her  with  her  right  hand, 
so  that  her  head  would  be  bruised  with  the  edge  of 
the  table ;  thus,  a  bunch  on  her  head  was  no  unus- 
ual occurrence. 

Ann  was  down  sick  with  a  cold,  and  her  thumb- 
nails came  off. 

Capt.  John  told  Deborah,  that  the  cabin. boy 
he  had  tied  up  by  the  thumbs  was  a  great  ugly 
fellow,  who  would  steal  butter  and  put  in  his  hat  ; 
in  fact,  he  would  steal  anything  he  could  lay  his 
hands  on.  He  had  been  flogged  and  placed  in 
irons ;  then  they  tried  the  thumb-screws,  but  it 
didn't  seem  just  the  tiling  for  a  girl. 

Ann  asked  Deborah  if  she  might  visit  her  brother's 
family,  as  they  were  now  living  in  the  northern  part 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  267 

of  the  state.  She  would  come  back  when  Deborah 
wanted  her.  As  the  last  punishment  she  gave  Ann 
did  not  meet  with  good  results,  she  felt  that  she  was 
getting  old  and  weak,  and  that  Ann  was  getting 
older  and  stronger,  and  she  found  it  was  not  so  easy 
to  train  her  up  in  the  way  she  should  go. 

Ann  had  been  quite  miserable  for  a  while.  A  few 
months  after  her  being  hung  up  in  the  garret,  Capt. 
John  had  occasion  to  go  quite  near  to  the  factory 
where  James  May  was  manufacturing  cloth  for  the 
Southern  market,  and  said  to  her  one  morning,  that 
if  she  would  get  ready,  he  would  carry  her  to  her 
brother's.  After  a  long  ride  they  reached  the  home 
of  James  May.  Capt.  John  introduced  himself,  and 
then  said,  "  Ann,  this  is  your  brother."  He  told 
James  that  he  had  brought  his  sister  to  stay  a  while 
with  him.  Ann  tried  to  feel  acquainted  with  the 
great,  nice-looking  man  she  knew  was  her  brother. 

Mrs.  May  was  quite  out  of  health  and  kept  her 
room  most  of  the  time.  The  affairs  of  the  family 
were  conducted  chiefly  by  a  middle  aged  Scotch 
woman  ;  she  seemed  to  think  that  the  new  comer 
might  possibly  take  her  place  and  that  she  might 
lose  her  situation.  In  spite  of  Ann's  kind  endeav- 
ors, the  woman  was  continually  running  to  her  mis- 
tress with  a  complaint  that  Mr.  May's  sister  had 
done  or  had  not  done  this  or  that. 

Ann  soon  perceived  that  she  was  not  over-wel- 
come in  the  family,  although  her  brother  seemed  very 
anxious  to  have  her  there.  She  seldom  saw  him 


268  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

except  at  meal  times.  If  she  said  anything  about 
Deborah's  cruel  treatment,  she  did  not  feel  assured 
that  they  fully  realized  the  life  she  had  led,  so  she 
made  it  a  rule  not  to  refer  to  her  previous  life  or 
speak  of  her  troubles,  unless  she  was  questioned. 

A  Mrs.  Wheelock,  one  of  the  neighbors,  was  sick 
and  wanted  Ann  to  come  and  stay  with  her  a  few 
days.  She  was  glad  to  go.  While  there,  she  re- 
ceived a  letter  stating  that  Deborah  was  quite  sick 
and,  at  that  time,  had  no  one  with  her  but  Elizabeth 
Rathburn,  who  was  herself  very  delicate.  When 
Ann  left  Deborah,  she  hoped  never  to  go  back  ;  but 
Mrs.  Wheelock  told  her  that  she  was  large  enough 
now  to  look  out  for  herself  and  if  Deborah  would 
send  her  to  Friends'  school  perhaps  she  could  learn 
to  teach.  But  she  advised  her  not  to  go  to  work  in 
the  factory  until  she  was  older.  She  thought  Ann 
had  better  write  and  tell  Deborah  that  she  would 
come  back  and  go  to  school,  and  would  try  to  do  the 
best  she  could. 

Ann  was  very  conscientious,  and  fully  desired  to 
do  right ;  and  although  she  knew  that  Deborah  had 
treated  her  cruelly,  she  remembered  that  she  had 
given  her  a  place  to  stay  in,  and  had  taught  her 
many  useful  things.  And  now,  if  she  was  sick,  she 
ought  to  forgive,  for  the  Bible  says,  "  Forgive  your 
enemies  and  pray  for  them  who  despitefully  use 
you,"  so  Ann  wrote  a  letter  to  that  effect.  But  she 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  stay  no  longer 
than  she  was  well  treated. 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  269 

Deborah  wrote  to  Ann,  saying  she  had  better 
come  in  the  stage.  Mr.  Whee!ock  carried  her  to 
Woonsocket  and  from  there  she  went  in  Mr.  Tour- 
telotte's  stage  to  Deborah's  door.  They  all  seemed^ 
glad  to  see  her.  Deborah  had  great  trouble  with 
her  eyes,  and  for  days  would  have  to  stay  in  a  dark- 
ened rocm.  Ann's  thumbs  were  nearly  well.  She 
had  told  no  one  what  was  the  matter  with  them,  but 
had  tried  to  keep  her  troubles  to  herself. 

She  had  been  away  three  months  ;  she  had  picked 
up  some  slang  words  which  Deborah  had  to  break 
her  of,  such  as  "  yes,  over  the  left ;  "  and  for  "  yes," 
"I  reckon."  She  thought  old  Betsey  only  an  "  old 
plug;"  Mr.  Wheelock  had  a  horse  that  could  go  a 
"two-forty  gait,"  and  her  brother  Jim  had  one 
called  old  Tige  that  could  "  beat  anything  on  the 
road." 

Elizabeth  Rathburn  was  terribly  shocked  when 
she  heard  Ann  telling  old  Betsey,  "  2-40  on  a  com-' 
mon  road  ;  what  would  you  do  on  a  good  road,  with 
a  good  driver  ?  "  This  horse-talk  she  had  heard  the 
boys  talk  over,  and  she  thought  it  sounded  so  differ- 
ent from  any  horse-talk  she  had  ever  heard ;  for 
when  Deborah  drove,  she  said, ''Get  thee  along, 
Betsey !  "  and  when  aunt  Olive  drove  her  old  horse 
Peter,  she  said,  "Thee  make  haste,  Peter!  " 

But  Ann  soon  dropped  her  slang,  and  was  ashamed 
that  she  had  been  so  unladylike.  Deborah  treated 
her  much  better  than  she  had  done  for  quite  a 
while.  She  let  her  to  go  to  school  to  Catherine 


270  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

Clarke,  at  the  Albion,  but  for  her  dinner  gave  her 
only  a  cold  potato,  a  cracker,  or  a  crust  of  brown 
bread.  Although  she  would  box  her  ears,  duck 

her  head  under  water,  and  not  give   her  more  than 

^p; 

half  enough  to  eat,  she  no  longer  shut  her  up  in 
dark-holes  or  hung  her  up  by  the  thumbs  ;  but  she 
continued  to  stent  her  beyond  endurance. 

Ann  went  to  school  only  six  weeks,  and  then  had 
to  stay  at  home  to  help  on  loom  harnesses.  Deb- 
orah seemed  to  think  it  possible  she  might  lose  her 
at  any  time,  so  she  must  have  her  do  all  she  could. 
She  told  Ann  that  if  she  would  stay  with  her  until 
she  was  eighteen,  she  would  do  well  by  her.  One 
day  she  showed  her  the  garments  she  had  prepared 
to  "  be  laid  out  "  in.  She  said  she  would  make  all 
of  her  children  a  present  in  her  will.  When  she 
talked  this  way,  Ann  would  think,  that,  come  what 
might,  she  would  stay  with  the  old  woman ;  but, 
perhaps  in  less  than  an  hour  afterwards,  she  would 
almost  knock  Ann  down  for  some  trifling  offence. 

Capt.  John  was  troubled  with  rheumatism.  When 
he  was  able,  they  went  to  meeting  regularly.  Deb- 
orah would  carry  her  satin  shawl  and  nice  gloves, 
and  when  nearly  there  she  changed  her  shawl  and 
on  her  way  home  she  folded  her  satin  shawl  and 
placed  it  in  the  paper  again,  saying,  "  there,  ^Ann, 
thee  see  how  to  be  prudent  of  thy  clothes." 

That  Capt.  John  was  fast  becoming  a  Friend  no 
one  could  doubt.  He  seemed  to  fill  his  place  well, 
the  hardy  old  sea-captain,  under  the  training  of  his 


OR   A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  271 

energetic  wife,  and  was  quite  unconsciously  being 
made  over,  much  to  the  .delight  of  his  family  who 
were  really  very  anxious  that  the  stirring,  business- 
like Deborah  should  take  their  father  and  train  him 
in  the  way  he  ought  to  go. 

Capt.  John  spent  much  of  his  time  in  reading  such 
works  as  Fieetwood's  Life  of  Christ,  the  Life  and 
Teachings  of  George  Fox,  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Prog- 
ress, and  Baxter's  works.  Many  hours  he  would 
read  aloud  while  Deborah  and  Ann  made  harnesses 
for  the  factory.  He  also  read  all  the  political  news 
and  much  enjoyed  his  evening  paper  and  Deborah's 
paper,  called  the  "  Friend,"  but  the  "  Liberator  "  he 
did  not  value  so  highly.  Although  Capt.  John  had 
the  name  of  having  been  in  the  slave  traffic,  he  posi- 
tively declared  that  he  had  not  been  guilty  of  that, 
(as  did  his  brother  who  had  settled  in  Matanzas, 
Cuba.)  He  really  did  not  dislike  the  colored  race 
socially. 

Ann  felt  quite  disappointed  when  Deborah  told 
her  that  she  had  education  enough,  and  that  she 
should  not  send  her  to  school,  not  even  to  Friends' 
School ;  that  for  a  girl  in  her  sphere  in  life,  she  had 
learning  enough ;  as  she  was  quite  quick  to  learn, 
she  could  listen  to  others  and  learn  of  them.  Ann 
knew  she  had  been  to  school  a  few  weeks  at  a  time, 
but  she  had  never  had  a  slate,  nor  ever  done  a  sum 
in  her  life  ;  neither  had  she  studied  grammar.  Here 
were  three  teachers,  more  or  less  in  this  home,  and 
these  women  were  professed  followers  of  the  meek 


272  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

and  lowiy  Jesus.  Mary  John,  Ann.  knew,  had  her 
special  hours  of  devotion  ;  but  she  had  not  treated 
this  motherless  girl  with  much  kindness,  and  not 
with  half  the  attention  one  would  show  a  pel  cat. 
Elizabeth,  more  tender  than  Mary,  seemed  to  pity 
Ann.  At  one  time  she  happened  to  see  her  blis- 
tered arm,  almost  black  from  Deborah's  cruel 
pinching,  and  she  said,  "  is  that  Deborah's  work, 
Ann  ?  is  it  possible  !  "  and  she  left  the  room. 

Since  Ann's  return  from  Mrs.  Wheelock's,  she 
slept  in  the  room  over  the  pantry  ;  a  cunning  little 
table  with  a  small  case  of  drawers  which  Deborah's 
father  had  made  for  his  girls,  and  a  little  stand  were 
in  this  room  Ann  called  this  stand  her  altar,  with 
a  piece  of  white  cloth  which  she  spread  over  it,  and 
her  testament,  which  she  almost  knew  by  heart,  on 
it.  Ann  tried  with  all  her  might  to  pray  for 
strength,  to  bear  Deborah's  ugliness  just  a  little 
longer,  and  then  she  would  go  to  work  in  some 
place. 

In  the  summer,  Ann  was  put  out  in  the  shop  to 
sleep,  so  that  the  hired  man  might  have  her  room. 
The  great  trap  door  was  shut  down,  and  the  outside 
door  locked  ;  mornings,  Deborah  would  come  and 
raise  the  great  door,  and  bring  a  dish  of  water  to 
throw  in  Ann's  face,  if  the  tired  girl  should  happen 
to  be  asleep  at  five  o'clock. 

Deborah  seemed  to  have  forgotten  her  resolve  to 
treat  her  better,  and  with  more  consideration. 
More  than  once  had  she  been  the  means  of  her 


OR    A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  275 

falling  down  the  cellar  stairs,  and  making  fearful 
bunches  on  her  face  and  head.  Ann  had  washed 
down  the  cellar  stairs  one  morning,  as  was  her  cus- 
tom. She  was  told  to  carry  down  a  pan  of  milk, 
and,  it  being  quite  full,  she  spilled  nearly  a  pint  of 
the  skim-milk  which  was  to  be  for  the  men's  supper. 
Deborah  saw  it ;  and,  taking  the  pan  and  setting  it 
down  on  the  top  step,  she  grabbed  Ann  by  the  arms 
and  set  her  nails  into  her  arms  with  a  fearful  grip  ; 
but  Ann,  quick  as  thought,  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  with  a  view  to  saving,  it  might  be,  her  life, 
took  hold  of  Deborah  in  the  same  way,  except  the 
pinching ;  thus,  they  stood  on  the  top  step  of  this 
long  set  of  steps,  leading  down  cellar.  Not  a  word 
was  spoken  by  either.  Ann  could  feel  Deborah's 
foot  trying  to  trip  her  up  ;  then  Ann  held  on  just  a 
little  harder,  and  braced  herself  against  the  wall. 
Five  minutes,  at  least,  the  pair  stood  in  this  way, 
when  Deborah  let  go  her  hold,  and  Ann  loosened 
her  grasp,  as  she  saw  Deborah  was  inclined  to  step 
up  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Ah,  Ann  !  "  she  said,  "  thee  is  too  strong  for 
me ;  thee  keep  on  with  thy  birds'-egging  and  see 
how  thee'll  come  out." 

When  Ann  could  sufficiently  calm  herself,  she 
said  to  Deborah,  "  I  will  never  do  another  day's 
work  in  this  house !  since  I  came  back  you  have 
whipped  me  awfully,  and  have  made  me  go  all  day 
without  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  make  harnesses  until 
my  back  and  side  and  shoulder  ached  so  you  have 


274  THREE    HOLES    IX    THE   CHIMNEY, 

been  obliged  to  ccver  them  with  plasters  ;  you  have 
fed  me  on  cayenne  pepper  and  thoioughwort-tea  ; 
you  have  told  me  lies  about  sending  me  to  school, 
all  these  years,  and  I  never  will  stay  here  any  more. 
My  father  is  now  keeping  house  only  sixteen  miles 
from  here,  so  you  heard  the  other  day,  you  know- 
and  if  you  will  send  me  there,  I  will  work  some, 
where,  and  go  to  school  a  year  or  more  perhaps,  for 
now,  I  feel  as  if  I  didn't  know  much." 

When  Capt.  John  came  in,  Deborah  told  him  that 
Ann  had  got  too  strong  for  her,  that  she  couldn't 
manage  her,  and  that  she  would  carry  her  to  her 
father  and  tell  him  what  a  naughty  girl  she  was. 

Ann  picked  up  her  few  clothes,  but  she  had  no 
trunk.  Deborah  told  her  Mary  John  said  that  she 
had  an  old  trunk  up  garret,  which  Ann  might  have 
for  two  dollars  and  a  half.  Deborah  said  that  if 
she  took  her  cloak  and  all  of  her  other  clothes,  she 
must  pay  two  dollars  and  a  half  more. 

"But  I  have  no  money,"  said  Ann,  "only  the  five 
dollars  in  the  bank  which  I  had  given  me  for  so 
many  years." 

Deborah  said,  "That  is  the  money  we  will  take." 

So,  in  this  way,  Ann  was  cheated  out  of  the 
change  she  had  had  given  to  her  from  time  to  time, 
for  ten  years.  It  was  said  that  she  gave  the  bank- 
book to  Ann  John,  but  Ann  never  knew  for  certain. 

Ann  went  over  to  Emma's  house  to  bid  these 
kind,  good  people  good-bye  ;  also,  Susan  and  Desire 
Willard.  She  kissed  the  little  Aphelia,  who  could 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  275 

run  alone  now.     Ann  thought  she  would  never  see 
so  cunning  a  baby  again. 

"We  shall  always  be  glad  to  see  thee,"  said  Olive 
Manning  ;  "  and  I  feel  that  thee  will  yet  see  pleas- 
ant days,  for  thee  has  naturally  a  very  happy 
disposition,  and  thou  art  quick  to  learn." 

Ann  would  have  felt  better  to  have  seen  Lydia 
Haynes  once  more,  but  she  never  did  ;  neither  did 
she  see  the  Sunday-school  teacher  at  Albion,  or 
Miss  Clarke,  whom  she  thought  so  gentle  and  kind. 

Deborah's  nephew,  George  Gill,  came  in,  and, 
finding  Ann  rejoicing  in  her  freedom,  he  took  her 
hand  and  said,  "  Thank  Heaven  !  you  are  out  of 
aunt  Deborah's  clutches  at  last,  I  hope." 

Deborah  went  with  Ann  to  her  father's,  but  her  father 
and  mother  were  away  for  the  day,  so  she  left  her 
with  the  family  who  lived  in  the  house  with  them. 
Their  name  was  Asay.  Mr.  Asay  was  a  cousin  of 
Mrs.  May's. 

Deborah  seemed  unwilling  to  leave  Ann,  and 
gave  her  advice.  She  said  she  hoped  her  care 
would  be  like  bread  cast  upon  the  waters  ;  and  she 
told  her,  as  she  had  her  brother  years  before,  that, 
if  she  ever  needed  a  meal  of  victuals,  to  come  to  her, 
and  she  would  feed  her.  She  wished  her  to  come 
and  see  her,  and  she  must  read  her  Testament  daily. 
Deborah  then  said  farewell,  and  left  for  home. 

Ann  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  she  beheld  Debo- 
rah's wagon  move  slowly  up  the  hill  towards  home. 


276  THREE   HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 


CHAPTER.  XII. 


MRS,  ASAY  was  a  very  highly  educated  lady  of 
strict  orthodox  principles.  She  was  away  from  home 
that  afternoon,  attending  a  missionary  meeting  of 
which  she  was  president.  Here  were  three  girls  to 
entertain  Ann  ;  they  all  gathered  around  her  and 
asked  her  her  name,  and  where  that  queer  old  lady 
lived.  They  told  her  that  they  called  her  new 
mother  aunt  Betsey,  and  that  she  would  be  at  home 
soon.  " 

"  Here  is  mother,  no\v,"  said  Etta,  the  youngest, 
a  little,  fat,  red-cheeked  girl. 

Mrs.  Asay  came  in,  and  such  a  lovely  counte- 
nance as  she  had !  Her  hair  was  light,  she  wore 
curls  caught  back  from  her  face  with  side-combs, 
and  wore  gold-bowed  spectacies. 

"  This  is  Mr.  May's  daughter,  aunt  Betsey  has 
told  us  about,  you  know,"  said  Myra.  "  Aunt  Betsey 
has  gone  to  see  Mrs.  Lovett,  this  afternoon,  and  we 
want  Ann  May  to  eat  supper  with  us." 

"  Certainly,"  said  her  mother  ;  "  she  will  stay  with 
us." 

Ann  could  not  help  but  notice  their  comfortable 
home  and  the  lovely  warm-looking  dresses  and 


OR  A   SCATTERED    FAMILY.  277 

pretty,  white  aprons  which  these    girls  wore.     Their 
beautiful  hair  was  braided  and  tied  with  ribbon. 

These  girls  did  not  sit  idle,  although  their  father 
was  a  rich  man.  They  were  braiding  straw  ;  "  pretty 
fine  cord,"  they  called  it.  They  said  that  they 
earned  a  certain  sum  every  week  ;  so  much  for  the 
Home  Mission,  and  so  many  cents  for  the  Foreign 
Missions,  and  for  the  Sunday-School.  Ann  had 
never  felt  so  ashamed  of  her  clothes  as  she  did  now. 

She  was  fourteen  years  old,  but  living  with  old 
people  so  long  had  made  her  have  quite  old-fash- 
ioned ways. 

Mary  John  had  made  her  a  dress  of  red  and  black 
striped  pound  calico,  and  had  cut  it  like  her  own, 
plain  waist,  hooked  in  front,  with  sleeves  gathered 
at  the  wrist.  The  long,  plain  skirt  was  finished 
with  a  narrow  hem.  She  had  low,  calf-skin  shoes, 
and  sheep's  black  stockings.  Neither  collar  nor 
buttons,  nor  a  piece  of  ribbon  was  there  to  relieve 
the  homeliness  of  Ann  May's  dress,  Her  cloak 
was  of  black  alpacca,  made  with  a  skirt  and  fan 
waist,  the  sleeves  fulled  at  the  wrist ;  a  quilted  hood 
and  sheeps'  black  mittens  she  also  wore,  and  all 
were  warm  and  comfortable. 

"  It  is  supper-time,  and  Ann  May  must  sit  here  at 
my  right  hand,"  said  Mrs.  Asay.  "  Now,  my  dear, 
try  to  feel  at  home  and  happy."  She  introduced 
Ann  to  Mr.  Asay  and  the  five  boys  who  were  soon 
seated  around  the  comfortable  table.  The 
boys'  names  were  Jackson,  Charles,  Francis, 
Lucius  and  Walter. 


278  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

"  What  a  lovely  family  this  is !  "  thought  Ann. 
She  forgot  all  about  the  dress  and  all  her  troubles. 

Mrs.  A  say  said  that  she  loved  to  look  at  Jonathan 
May.  -He  had  been  at  home  with  his  father  some, 
and  she  had  become  quite  attached  to  the  bright, 
curly  headed  young  man.  All  talked  and  seemed 
so  happy. 

"  There's  Mr.  May  and  aunt  Betsey  coining," 
said  the  little  Walter,  who  was  not  yet  old  enough 
to  wear  jacket  and  pants. 

"  Wait  until  they  get  their  fire  built,"  said  the  old- 
est of  the  three  girls,  "  and  then  we  will  surprise 
them  both." 

Both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  May  were  surprised  at  seeing 
Ann. 

She  could  not  remember  how  her  father  looked; 
she  had  seen  him  twice  within  ten  years,  for  a  few 
moments  only,  and  then  he  was  dressed  up,  with  a 
tall  hat  and  nice  clothes  on  ;  now,  he  wore  a  farmer's 
frock  and  a  fur  cap.  They  seemed  very  much 
pleased  with  their  daughter. 

Ann  told  them  that  she  could  not  stop  at  Capt. 
John's  any  longer,  because  Deborah  was  so  unkind 
to  her,  and  now  she  was  old  enough  to  take  care  of 
herself;  but  she  wanted  to  go  to  school,  if  possible. 
She  stayed  at  her  new  home  and  made  quite  a  visit, 
and  got  quite  well  acquainted  with  her  parents. 

As  Ann  would  earn  nothing  at  home,  she  went  to 
stay  with  a  Mrs.  Justin,  a  friend  of  her  step-mother's. 
She  went  to  school  to  Miss  Sylvia  Aldrich,  the  niece 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  279 

of  Mrs.  May's  whom  she  spoke  to  Ann  about  when 
at  Central  Falls.  Ann  earned  her  clothes  by  knit- 
ting, and  doing  what  extra  work  she  could ;  as  she 
worked  for  her  board,  she  did  not  have  much  time. 

Ann's  mother  was  kind  to  her  :  she  would  often 
take  her  into  a  quiet  room  and  pray  for  her  welfare, 
and  for  the  whole  world  even,  in  a  manner  which 
would  touch  the  hearts  of  persons  much  less  thought- 
ful than  this  young  girl.  She  also  enjoyed  telling 
Ann  about  her  first  visit  to  Boston  in  a  stage  coach, 
to  visit  her  father's  relatives  ;  one  was  her  aunt 
Emery,  who  lived  in  a  building  called  the  Tontine 
Building.  She  told  how  pleased  she  was  with  the 
elegant  presents  she  received ;  and,  that,  when  her 
aunt  kissed  her  good-bye,  she  placed  a  ten-dollar 
gold  piece  in  her  hand.  She  was  introduced  to 
Gov.  John  Hancock,  as  they  were  to  journey  together 
some  miles. 

He  said  to  her,  "  Is  it  possible  young  lady,  that 
you  are  the  late  Ebenezer  Coffin's  daughter?  How 
many  children  had  he  ?  " 

"There  were  three  sisters  of  us/'  she  replied. 

"  Sir  Isaac  Coffin  is  an  uncle  of  yours  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  lady  of  eighteen. 

'•  Well,  Miss  Coffin,  there  is  great  wealth  in  Eng- 
land for  you  children  if  it  was  looked  up." 

Ann's  mother  told  her  that  her  sisters  were  always 
laughing  at  her,  about  her  rich  relatives,  and  the 
wealth  in  England  which  they  might  never  possess  ; 
but  they  did  not  doubt  the  truth  of  this  wise  man's 


280  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

story.  The  families  were  on  visiting  terms  in  their 
day. 

Ann  would  cut  out  and  make  her  own  clothes 
and  her  mother's.  She  was  a  very  industrious  girl. 
She  learned  a  great  deal  in  the  six  months  she  went 
to  school  to  her  mother's  niece,  and  she  had  made 
many  friends.  She  seldom  spoke  to  anyone  of  her 
"  dark  days,"  as  she  called  her  prison-like  life,  and 
few  knew  that  she  had  not  always  been  the  cheerful 
girl  she  was  now. 

Ann  had  written  to  her  aunt,  Lydia  May ;  she 
received  an  answer  saying,  that  Nannie  Lare  had 
been  staying  with  her  aunt  Angell  in  Providence; 
while  there,  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  Mr. 
James  Conliff,  a  factory  owner,  to  whom  she  had 
been  married  a  few  weeks.  She  did  not  like  to  live 
alone  with  Sarah,  so  they  were  now  at  Wrentham, 
where  Sarah  was  going  to  school  with  Virginia  and 
Maryland  Lare,  who  were  visiting  their  grandfather's 
family  this  summer.  Nannie's  father  was  again  a 
widower  ;  his  son,  Lorenzo,  was  dead  and  his  widow 
had  married  a  Mr.  Howe,  who  was  then  the  mayor 
of  St.  Louis. 

Ann  was  much  pleased  to  hear  from  her  sister, 
and  wondered  if  they  would  ever  become  acquainted. 
She  had  written  to  Emma  Manning.  Emma  some- 
times would  answer,  but  more  frequently  her  mother 
wrote  for  her.  This  time  the  news  was  as  follows  : 

Elizabeth  Rathburn  had  married  and  Hannah 
Appleton,  who  used  to  board  with  Deborah,  had  left 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  281 

for  Providence.  The  agent  Brown's  son  hadmarried 
Lina  Hammond,  and  Catherine  Clark  had  married 
and  gone  away,  and  her  sister  WAS  doing  a  great 
business  horseback  riding  that  season.  Now  sur- 
veyors were  at  work  between  Providence  and  Wor- 
cester for  a  railroad,  and  there  was  no  knowing  how 
many  would  get  killed  if  cars  should  run  right 
through  the  village.  Dr.  Hume's  family  had  moved 
to  Connecticut  and  George  John's  family  had 
moved  to  Woonsocket.  Deborah  had  hired  a  young 
man  from  Sandwich,  N.  H.,  who  proved  to  be  very 
trusty  and  who  helped  to  take  care  of  Capt.  John 
in  his  last  sickness.  Capt.  John  did  not  live  many 
years  after  Ann  May  left  ;  then  Davis  Kidder 
was  just  the  man  Deborah  needed.  Although 
under  her  immediate  direction  he  managed  to  do 
very  much  as  he  pleased.  At  his  request,  she  would 
raise  his  salary  nearly  every  year,  thus  insuring  his 
services,  as  very  few  persons  could  be  found  who 
would  put  up  with  her  eccentricities. 

Although  Deborah  was  so  unkind  to  children  un- 
der her  charge,  she  again  found  two  little  helpless 
ones  —  her  niece's  grandchildren.  So  poor  little 
Jimmy  and  Rhoda  Crocker  were  rilling  Ann  May's 
place  in  this  woman's  home.  The  little,  three-years- 
old  Jimmie  slept  on  the  brick  hearth  where,  some 
years  before,  lay  the  abused  little  Ann. 

Ann,  still  anxious  to  go  to  school,  tried  to  form 
plans  to  that  effect.  She  knew  that  her  uncle  Sam- 
uel lived  in  Newton,  some  nine  miles  west  of  Boston, 


282  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

and,  that,  possibly  she  might  go  there  and  go  to 
school.  So  it  was  decided  that  Ann  should  write 
to  her  uncle  whom  she  had  never  seen.  In  due 
time,  an  answer  was  received,  which  was  written  by 
Ann's  cousin  Lottie,  saying  that  they  would  be  glad 
to  have  her  come,  and  would  see  what  arrangements 
they  could  make. 

Ann  was  much  pleased  with  the  prospect  before 
her.  Within  a  few  days  after  receiving  Lottie  May's 
letter,  Ann  left  her  home  amid  the  tears  of  her 
mother,  and  the  best  wishes  of  the  Asay  family,  who 
had  been  very  kind  to  her  ever  since  she  was  so 
unceremoniously  introduced  into  the  family.  Ann's 
father  carried  her  to  Whitinsville,  where  she  took 
the  stage  for  Worcester ;  at  Worcester,  she  crossed 
the  city  and  stepped  into  the  cars  bound  for  Boston 
and  way  stations. 

As  this  was  the  first  time  Ann  had  travelled  in  the 
cars,  she  began  to  watch  for  West  Newton  soon  after 
leaving  Natick,  and  she  felt  sure,  that  in  all  prob- 
ability she  would  be  carried  by.  Sitting  on  the  left- 
hand  side  of  the  car,  the  gothic  cottages  on  Webster 
street  at  West  Newton  attracted  her  attention  ;  the 
conductor  had  told  her  that  the  next  place  would  be 
West  Newton,  and  that  a  carriage  would  be  await- 
ing the  train  for  L'pper  Falls. 

As  Ann  stepped  upon  the  platform,  the  conductor 
pointed  to  a  man  and  said,  "  There  is  Bixby,  he  will 
tell  you  all  you  want  to  know." 

Within  five  minutes  Ann  was  on  her  way  to   New- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  283 

ton  Upper  Falls;  up  the  long  hill,  it  seemed  a  long 
ride.  A  new  world  seemed  to  open  before  her,  as 
she  admired  the  scenes  which  she  passed  ;  this  was 
not  as  rocky  as  her  native  state,  she  thought,  but 
here  were  hills  without  number.  The  two  miles 
were  at  last  travelled,  and  they  stopped  at  a  nice 
comfortable  house  where  the  driver  said  Mr.  Sam- 
uel May  lived.  He  helped  Ann  out  of  the  carriage  ; 
the  Mary  John  trunk,  (with  straps  on  to  hold  it 
together,  as  there  had  not  been  a  lock  o;i  it  for  many 
a  year, )  was  put  upon  the  step  at  the  front  door. 
Ann  paid  the  man  the  last  quarter  she  had. 

Her  aunt  met  her  at  the  door,  and  seemed  glad  to 
see  her  husband's  niece.  Her  daughter  Lottie  who 
had  been  out  ever  the  shed  practicing  on  a  violin, 
then  came  in.  rfer  mother  said  that  she  made  such 
a  screeching  she  could  not  endure  it ;  Lottie  laughed 
at  her  mother's  compliment.  Soon,  James  May 
came  in  to  see  his  new  cousin. 

"  My  eldest  brother's  name  is  James,"  said   Ann. 

':  Yes,"  her  aunt  said;  "your  brother  was  named 
for  the  president,  James  Monroe  ;  and  your  cousin 
was  named  for  your  uncle,  James  Angell,  of  North 
Providence." 

Ann  did  not  see  her  uncle  until  tea-time.  She 
then  learned  that  the  pastor  of  the  Methodist 
church  was  boarding  in  her  uncle's  family. 

Many  inquiries  were  made  of  Ann,  concerning  her 
father  and  her  family,  generally.  She  found  her 
uncle  a  very  pleasant,  quiet  man. 


284  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

In  the  evening,  her  cousin  James  took  her  down 
street  to  call  on  his  sister,  whose  husband  was  at 
that  time  postmaster. 

Ann  was  very  much  pleased  with  her  new  relatives  ; 
yet,  when  she  saw  the  elegant  clothes  they  wore, 
she  felt  sure  they  would  be  ashamed  of  her  appear- 
ance, though  at  home  she  had  thought  she  looked 
quite  presentable. 

Ann  had  been  at  her  uncle's  house  a  few  weeks, 
and  nothing  had  been  said  about  school.  Her  aunt 
had  been  sent  for,  to  attend  her  sick  daughter,  Mrs. 
Wellington,  who  died  some  weeks  after,  and  was 
brought  home  and  buried  from  her  father's  house. 

Thus  the  time  passed  and  Ann  found  herself 
quite  unable  to  attend  school.  Her  wardrobe,  which 
was  certainly  scanty  enough  at  first,  had  not 
improved.  So  it  happened  that  Ann  did  not  go  to 
school,  as  she  fondly  hoped,  but  went  to  Wal- 
tham,  where  she  learned  the  dress  maker's  trade 
with  one  Miss  Wetherbee,  a  very  excellent  lady. 

Thus,  Ann  persevered  until  she  gained  a  very 
nice  living. 

One  thing  she  always  kept  in  mind  ;  that  she 
would,  at  some  future  day,  be  baptized  and  unite 
with  the  church,  and  thus  be  strengthened  in  her 
Christian  life.  This  she  did  in  Waltham,  a  few 
years  after  leaving  her  uncle's  home. 

Ann  had  heard  from  her  Smithfield  friends  now 
and  then.  She  decided  to  visit  her  father  and 
mother,  also  her  old  friends,  as  she  knew  she 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  285 

was  always  welcome.  Arriving  in  Smithfield,  she 
stopped  at  neighbor  Clarke's  all  night,  as  a  severe 
snow-storm  had  set  in  and  she  could  not  reach  Job 
Manning's  house  on  the  cross-road.  She  was  treated 
very  kindly  and  enjoyed  sitting  by  the  great,  open 
fire-place.  Although  she  was  so  near  the  house  with 
the  three  holes  in  the  chimney,  she  had  no  one  now 
to  fear. 

She  learned  that  she  had  always  had  the  sympa- 
thy of  all  the  neighborhood  in  her  suffering  child- 
hood, but  no  one  cared  to  meddle  with  Deborah's 
affairs;  yet  no  one  denied  that  it  was  a  cowardly 
thing  not  to  do  so. 

Early  the  next  morning,  she  took  breakfast  with 
this  kind  family.  Many  inquiries  were  made  by 
them  concerning  her  brothers,  and  they  were  anx- 
ious to  know  how  she  had  got  along  since  she  left 
Deborah's  watchful  care. 

Mr.  Clarke's  youngest  son  harnessed  the  horse 
and  carried  Ann  over  to  the  Mannings.  The  snow 
was  so  drifted  it  was  almost  impossible  to  reach  the 
house.  It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  time  to  travel, 
but  it  was  just  as  pleasant  in-doors,  Ann  thought,  as 
her  tongue  was  once  more  let  loose  in  the  Manning 
kitchen.  The  little  Aphelia  stood  behind  her 
mother's  chair  looking  on  in  mute  astonishment. 
Her  father  had  just  brought  in  a  new-fashioned  fly- 
trap which  he  hoped  to  use  the  coming  season,  and 
Ann  wanted  to  see  how  it  would  work,  so  one  of  the 
boys  said,  "  You  put  some  molasses  on  the  lower 


286  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

board,  and  when  the  flies  go  in  to  eat  it,  step  up 
behind  it  and  slap  it  down  and  they  will  be  mashed. 
If  yon- don't  believe  it,  put  your  finger  in  and  I  will 
slap  it  down."  But  Emma  thought  that  the  trap 
made  of  two  shingles  fastened  together  with  a  string 
and  hung  on  a  pole  which  was  placed  overhead  in 
the  kitchen,  to  hang  squashes  and  yarn  on,  was 
much  better. 

This  kind  father  was  very  fond  of  making  bird- 
cages, and  squirrel-cages,  little  chairs  for  the  child- 
ren, both  high  and  low,  and  chairs  for  their  dolls. 
Specimens  of  his  handiwork  could  be  seen  in  every 
room.  If  a  book-case  was  wanted,  or  a  closet,  or 
anything  handy  —  "Well,  father  will  make  it." 

Before  Ann  went  home,  she  thought  she  must  call 
on  Deborah.  She  seemed  glad  to  see  Ann,  and 
said  she  was  proud  to  see  such  a  nice,  great  girl  ; 
she  always  thought  her  bringing  up  would  be  like 
bread  cast  upon  the  waters.  After  awhile,  Ann 
thought  it  best  to  tell  this  woman  what  she  thought, 
as  life  \vas  uncertain,  and  she  might  never  have 
another  chance.  So  she  told  her  of  many  cru-1 
things  she  had  done.  She  asked  her  if  she  thought 
the  evil  one  would  ever  tempt  her  to  treat  the  puny 
little  children  now  under  her  care,  as  she  had  treated 
herself  and  her  brother.  And  if  she  ever  heard  of 
such  actions  she  would  have  her  arrested,  and  she 
would  have  to  part  with  some  of  the  money  she  her- 
self had  helped  her  to  accumulate.  Ann  told  her 
that  she  tried  to  forgive  her  for  her  cruelty  but 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  287 

her  brother  would  not  hear  a  word  of  it ;  he  said 
that  would  not  be  human  nature. 

Deborah  inquired  after  George,  and  Ann  told 
her  that  he  was  at  work  for  their  brother  James. 
Deborah  told  Ann  to  come  and  see  her,  as  she 
always  loved  her.  "Thee  knows  the  Bible  says, 
'spare  the  rod  and  spoil  the  child.'  " 

Ann  bade  this  woman  good-bye,  and  shed  tears  of 
pity  for  poor  Jimmy,  as  he  stood  by  the  door  nib- 
bling a  piece  of  cracker,  which  she  knew  was  all 
the  supper  the  little  fellow  would  have.  The  only 
hope  Ann  felt  for  the  little  boy  was  that  her  Heav- 
enly Father  would,  in  His  mercy,  take  him  home. 

Ann  called  upon  Susan  and  Desire  Willard,  and 
in  a  few  days  went  to  visit  her  father  and  mother. 
She  again  heard  her  mother  <-ing  the  gcod  old 
hymns  she  had  heard  her  sing  so  many  times  before. 
The  Asay  family  had  moved  up  town.  Mr.  Asay 
was  now  deputy-sheriff  of  Worcester  county,  and  the 
farm  was  too  far  away.  Ann  found  them  and  was 
moie  than  welcome,  for  they  were  more  than 
delighted  to  see  her. 

But  Ann  must"  return  to  her  work.  She  had 
learned  that  her  sister  was  at  Wrentham,  and  that 
her  aunt  Lydia  had  gone  to  Manchang,  Mass.,  to 
spend  the  rest  of  her  days  with  her  niece,  Mrs.  Con- 
liff.  Soon  after  Ann  had  returned  to  Waltham,  she 
received  letters  stating  that  her  brother  Jonathan 
had  been  cast-away  at  sea,  after  being  out  two  weeks 
only.  Ann  felt  thankful  that  he  had  become  a 


288  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

Christian  when  so  young,  and  she  felt  that  the  cord 
of  love  was  growing  stronger  and  stronger  between 
her  and  her  loved  ones  in  Heaven.  The  last  words 
Jonathan  was  heard  to  say  were,  "  My  poor  father ! 
what  will  he  do  ?  " 

Ann  received  letters  fron  Lewis  Pond,  of  New 
York  City,  who  was  saved  from  the  wreck  on  which 
her  brother  was  lost. 


Some  years  have  passed,  and  we  find  Ann  no 
longer  Ann  May,  but  the  wife  of  the  oldest  son  of  a 
Watertown  family,  named  Warren. 

Ten  years  later  finds  Ann  Warren  surrounded  with  a 
lovely  family  of  children,  but  she  is  an  invalid. 
Deborah  hears  of  her  long  sickness  and  desires 
Olive  Manning  to  visit  her.  She  was  now  living  in 
the  southern  part  of  Rhode  Island.  Mrs.  Warren 
was  overjoyed  at  seeing  her  old  friend  ;  and,  al- 
though she  could  not  sit  up,  she  tried  hard  to  be 
cheerful. 

Olive  told  her  that  Deborah  was  quite  feeble,  and 
could  not  live  long  ;  that  the  children  whom  she  had 
with  her  had  been  provided  for,  and  that  the  hired 
man,  Davis  Kidder,  had  married  a  girl  who  worked 
for  Deborah,  named  Lois  Xye.  She  had  been  teach- 
ing at  Lynn,  Mass.,  but  had  stepped  into  Deborah's 
household  quite  fortunately.  Deborah  was  quite 
pleased  about  it,  and  went  to  their  marriage  at  Ber- 
wick, Maine,  and  report  said  she  got  them  a  wed- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  289 

ding  supper  which  was  characteristic  of  her —  con- 
sisting of  crackers,  doughnuts  and  cheese. 

Olive  went  home  much  pleased  with  her  short 
visit  and  told  Deborah  how  Ann  Warren  was  situated. 
Deborah  desired  Davis  to  send  Ann  a  bed  and  all 
its  belongings,  but  he  thought  she  had  better  wait 
until  she  got  stronger  ;  she  was  really  very  near  her 
end.  When  she  would  tease  him  to  send  the  bed, 
he  would  advise  her  to  leave  it  until  a  more  conve- 
nient season.  Whatever  her  intentions  were  toward 
the  woman  she  had  so  cruelly  wronged  when  a 
helpless  child,  she  really  had  nothing  to  give  ;  for, 
after  many  times  changing  her  will,  she  had  finally 
given  her  property  to  the  faithful  Davis,  except  cer- 
tain legacies  which  he  was  bound  to  pay.  She  willed 
but  a  little  to  her  relatives,  or  to  others  who  richly  de- 
served it.  So  it  happened  that  Ann  Warren  did  not 
get  a  bed,  an  article  which  Deborah  denied  the  poor 
girl  most  of  the  time  she  lived  under  her  roof. 

But  all  earthly  things  come  to  an  end  ;  and  so, 
at  last,  did  Deborah's  strength.  She  must  die  and 
leave  all  these  possessions,  many  of  which  were 
made  up  of  the  groans  and  cries  of  hunger  and  the 
fearful  sufferings  of  the  poor,  sick  woman,  Ann, 
when  a  helpless  child  ;  and  the  cries,  and  distress, 
and  sufferings  of  the  motherless,  frozen-footed  boy. 
In  her  last  moments  she  heard  the  cries  of  children. 
In  her  half-slumber  did  she  view  the  little  one  cry- 
ing for  her  mother  in  heaven  ?  Did  she  see  the 
great  purple  marks  on  this  little  one's  flesh  ?  Could 


290  THREE   HOLES    IN   THE   CHIMNEY, 

she  see  her  kneeling  on  the  cellar-floor,  crying  and 
begging  not  to  be  shut  up  in  the  hole  of, the  great 
chimney  ?  or  the  drowning  child,  as  she  was  taken 
up  out  of  the  barrel  of  water,  or  down  in  the  sink- 
drain  eating  from  a  filthy  swill  pail  ?  her  terrible  dis- 
tress when  forced  to  take  cayenne  pepper  and  the 
bowls  of  bitter  thoroughwort  tea  ?  In  her  fits  of 
slumber,  did  she  see  the  blistered  feet  of  the 
poor  child,  or  her  tired  little  body  on  her  bed  of 
rags  ?  or  the  poor  girl  hung  up  by  her  thumbs  in  the 
cold,  lonely  garret  ?  Could  she  see  the  scarred 
arm  which  she  so  delighted  in  pinching  until  it  was 
purple ;  the  great  bunches  on  her  head  ?  Did  she 
hear  the  sobs  of  the  tired  girl  as  she  worked  at  the 
harness  bench,  sometimes  until  nearly  midnight,  to 
gain  wealth  for  strangers  to  use  ?  Days  of  suffering 
for  what  ?  The  friends  of  her  husband  turn  their 
backs  upon  her ;  the  children  she  abused  abhor  her 
very  name  ! 

Deborah  John  is  led  to  the  door ;  she  views  her 
land,  and  the  beautiful  yards  which  she  used  to 
sweep  so  clean.  She  said,  ''I  shall  never  sweep  it 
more,  I  am  persuaded." 

Lydia  Haynes,  her  friend  Huldah,  and  others, 
watched  her  last  moments,  and  they  were  shocked 
to  hear  her  last  words  :  —  "  Have  I  always  given 
them  children  enough  to  eat  ?  " 

Friends  for  different  motives  came  to  the  funeral  of 
this  noted  woman ;  some  to  whom  she  had  been 
very  kind,  felt  sorry  to  see  her  laid  away  in  the 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  291 

ground ;  they  would  no  more  receive  favors  at  her 
expense.  One  friend  prayed  over  her  open  grave 
with  great  earnestness,  and  enjoyed  one  thousand 
dollars  of  the  dead  woman's  possessions,  also,  most 
of  her  clothing.  The  two  little  orphans,  Jimmy  and 
Rhoda,  had  only  twenty-five  dollars  each,  and  were 
not  to  receive  that  until  they  were  of  age.  Her 
invalid  niece  must  have  been  somewhat  disappointed. 
Her  kind  niece,  Olive,  received  a  much-worn  bed- 
quilt. 

The  hackmatack  tree  was  taken  from  her  garden 
and  placed  on  her  grave  ;  another  of  the  same  kind 
waves  in  unison.  Emblematical  of  this  woman's 
life  are  these  trees  ;  they  are  always  covered  with 
thorns. 

Once  more  are  childish  voices  heard  in  this  coun- 
try home,  but  how  different !  A  kind  father  is  the 
faithful  Davis  Kidder,  and  the  gentle  Lois  is  an 
affectionate  mother.  The  great  holes  in  the  chimney 
will  never  hold  their  little  boys.  Yet,  sorrow  has 
entered  this  quiet  home,  and  now  the  loving  parents 
must  gaze  on  the  still,  lovely  form  of  their  Willie, 
who,  a  short  time  before  had  gone  out  to  play.  He 
climbed  the  wall  which  was  in  the  pond  ;  (where 
Ann  May  stood  and  bade  her  brother  George  good- 
bye, with  tears)  he  slipped,  fell  into  the  water  and 
was  drowned. 

Twenty-five  years  have  passed  since  Olive  Man- 
ning bade  the  sick  Mrs.  Warren  farewell,  and 
charged  her  husband  to  be  very  careful  of  his 


292  THREE   HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 

invalid  wife,  praying  that  she  might  be  spared  to  her 
children.  It  appears  that  this  prayer  was  granted, 
for  Mrs.  Warren  yet  lives,  and  now  she  relates  the 
story  of  her  scattered  family,  and  some  of  her  old 
acquaintances. 

The  kind-hearted  Lydia  had  long  ago  entered 
into  that  rest  which  remaineth  for  the  people  of 
God. 

Ruth  Manning,  though  quite  aged,  enjoys  life  in 
her  own  quiet  way  at  the  old  Manning  homestead. 

The  resolute  Viola  with  her  industrious  husband, 
still  live  at  their  pleasant  home  near  Break  Neck 
Hill,  and  count  their  grandchildren  by  the  score. 

Emma  Manning  married  a  well-to-do  merchant, 
and  lives  in  East  Providence,  R.  I.,  enjoying  the 
society  of  her  good  old  parent  Job,  and  the  happy 
mother  of  a  lovely  family  ;  while  the  once  timid 
Aphelia  holds  forth  the  gospel  truth  in  her  own 
quaint  way,  to  interested  audiences. 

The  invalid,  Phebe  Barker,  yet  lives.  Although 
her  beautiful  hair  is  sprinkled  with  gray,  and  time 
has  left  its  mark  on  her  intelligent  face,  she  is  the 
same  sprightly,  graceful  person  of  fifty  years  ago. 

The  pleasant  little  fellow,  Horatio,  died  of  con- 
sumption, while  yet  a  young  man,  and  his  sister,  the 
little  black-eyed  baby,  Julia,  still  lives  at  the  old 
Dudley  mansion. 

Susan  and  Desire  Willard  both  married  well,  but 
were  left  widows  while  yet  young  women  ;  each 
having  a  family  of  boys.  They  were  both  strong- 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  293 

minded  Christian  women,  and,  truly,  may  their  sons 
rise  up  and  call  them  blessed. 

Mary  John,  who  married  quite  late  in  life,  proved 
herself  to  be  a  most  devoted  wife  and  step-mother  > 
and,  when  left  a  widow  a  short  time  since,  all  vied 
with  each  other  in  doing  her  homage,  and  to  express 
their  regard  for  her  many  deeds  of  charity,  and  the 
Elizabeth,  of  babyhood  fame,  rejoices  in  the  society 
of  her  beloved  aunt  Mary. 

Clawford  Martin  still  lives  at  the  Capt.  John 
homestead,  surrounded  by  a  large  family  of  children, 
and  with  his  little  dark-eyed  grandson  on  his  knee  • 
and  his  gray  hair  speaks  plainer  than  words  of  the 
years  which  have  passed,  since,  when  a  slender  lad, 
he  handed  the  empty  saucer  to  th*e  disappointed 
little  girl,  Ann  May. 

Mrs.  Gibbs  and  Mrs.  Sawyer  (Ann's  aunts)  still 
live,  at  the  advanced  ages  of  eighty  years  and 
upwards ;  while  Mrs.  Spooner,  after  years  of  suffer- 
ing, found  rest  in  the  grave  a  few  years  since. 
Ann's  only  sister,  with  her  wealth  of  curls  now 
sprinkled  with  gray,  is  the  happy  wife  of  a 
much  respected  citizen  of  Pawtucket,  R.  I.,  whose 
father  was  one  of  the  leading  factory  owners  of  his 
day. 

Their  brother  Will  still  lives  in  his  native  state. 
He  often  speaks  of  the  dark  days  at  Albion,  and 
calls  to  mind  the  times  his  sainted  mother  called  him 
to  her  bedside  and  curled  his  flowing  locks,  and 
kissed  him  good-bye  as  he  went  to  his  work. 


294  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE    CHIMNEY, 

Her  brother  James,  after  journeying  in  the  far 
west,  returned  to  his  family,  bought  him  a  home,  and 
died  soon  after,  when  yet  a  young  man.  Her 
brother  George  had  married  and  purchased  the  Asay 
estate,  and  he  also  died  soon  after,  while  yet  in  the 
prime  of  life.  Her  step-mother  lived  to  the  good 
old  age  of  eighty-seven  years.  When  visited  by  Mrs. 
Warren  a  few  days  before  her  death,  she  said,  "  O, 
my  daughter,  I  thank  the  Lord  I  have  lived  to  see 
your  dear  face  once  more  !  " 

Just  before  she  breathed  her  last,  she  declared 
she  could  behold  her  savior  as  plainly  as  she  ever 
beheld  her  earthly  friends,  and  she  died  viewing  the 
face  of  her  Lord.  Who  can  doubt  she  is  singing 
the  songs  she  loved  so  well  while  here.  She  was 
buried  in  the  town  of  Douglass,  near  Worcester, 
Mass.  Her  nephew,  Joseph  Crocker,  then  living 
at  Fort  Hamilton,  N.  Y.,  erected  a  nice  stone  to 
mark  her  resting-place,  and  on  the  stone  is  this  in- 
scription :  "  Aunt  Betsey.  Thus  passed  away  the 
beloved  daughter  of  Ebenezer  Coffin,  of  Boston, 
and  Charlotte  Thayer  Coffin,  of  Uxbridge,  Mass." 

Again  Mrs.  Warren  stands  in  the  doorway, 
where  fifty  years  ago  she  stood  holding  out  her 
hands,  and  crying,  "papa!  papa!"  without 
effect.  Again  she  travels  the  sandy,  lonesome 
road,  now  gladdened  with  dwellings.  She  stands 
beside  the  grave  of  Deborah ;  the  trees  are 
now  large  and  shadow  her  resting-place.  She  turns 
away  with  a  sigh  of  relief  that  Deborah  now  rests 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  295 

from  her  labors,  and  her  works  do  follow  her. 
Weeping  over  the  graves  of  the  two  Olives,  she  said, 
"  They  were  kind  to  us  poor  children  ;  verily,  they 
shall  have  their  reward." 

The  angel  of  death,  came  so  silently  to  Olive 
Manning,  and  her  departure  was  so  peaceful  that 
his  presence  was  not  known  until  after  he  had  gone. 

Mrs.  Warren  finds  herself  in  the  prison  house  of 
her  childhood.  The  holes  in  the  chimney  are  still 
there  and  also  the  well  which  had  supplied  so  much 
water  for  her  distress.  The  broad  stair  in  the  sit- 
ting-room has  been  taken  away ;  gilt  paper  adorns 
the  walls,  and  a  bay  window  lightens  the  once  dark 
room.  Deborah's  parlor  carpet  covers  the  floor. 
In  the  corner  where  the  clock  used  to  stand, 
(watched  by  Ann  May  when  it  seemed  as  if  she 
would  give  worlds  for  an  hour  of  time  to  get  her 
stent  done),  there  is  now  a  tastefully  arranged 
desk,  and  the  successor  to  Deborah's  earthly  pos- 
sessions can  here  count  up  his  acquired  wealth  and 
thank  his  old  benefactress  for  giving  him  such  a 
start  in  business.  Why  should  not  this  man  say  he 
believes,  if  there  is  a  saint  in  heaven,  she  is  one  ? 


296  THREE    HOLES    IN    THE   CHIMNEY, 


CONCLUSION. 


"  O,  MOTHER,"  said  Annie  Clarke,  "aunt  Mary 
will  be  here  next  week,  and  cousin  Nelly  is  coming 
with  her.  I  have  just  got  this  letter  from  her,  say- 
ing that  they  wish  to  be  here  to  attend  the  graduat- 
ing exercises  of  the  Lassell  Seminary.  You  know 
her  friend  from  Baltimore  graduates  this  term.  I 
hope  that  she  will  bring  the  rest  of  that  story  which 
she  commenced  to  tell  us.  I  have  forgotten  half  of 
it,  already." 

"  She  will  bring  it,  fast  enough,"  said  Robert,  "for 
aunt  Mary  always  does  as  she  says  she  will,  every 
time,  and  don't  you  forget  it,  sis  !  " 

Mr.  Clarke  received  a  postal  from  his  sister,  say- 
ing that  she  and  Nelly  would  be  in  Boston  the  next 
Thursday,  on  an  early  train  from  New  York.  Noth- 
ing was  talked  of  but  the  coming  of  aunt  Mary  and 
cousin  Nelly. 

"  Here  they  tome,"  cried  Bessie  Clark  ;  and  such 
a  happy  re-union  as  it  was  !  One  of  the  first  things 
which  aunt  Mary  was  told  was  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Homer  had  moved  to  Washington  Park,  next  door 
to  the  Clark s. 

After  a  while,  Annie  whispers  to  aunt  Mary,  "  Did 
you  bring  the  story  ?  " 


OR    A    SCATTERED    FAMILY.  297 

"Yes,  dear,"  and  unlocking  her  trunk  she  took 
out  quite  a  package  of  manuscript,  saying,  "  there, 
children  ;  I  have  tried  to  write  this  simply  and 
plainly,  and,  as  you  see,  have  scribbled  this  paper 
all  over  ;  but,  after  1  began,  I  didn't  find  any  place 
to  stop.  I  hope  this  true  story  will  amuse  you  and 
do  you  good  ;  and  .as  Mrs.  Warren  is  now  making 
her  home  in  your  own  beautiful  city,  I  will  help  you 
to  make  her  acquaintance.  You  will  not  wonder  that 
I  love  her  so  well  when  you  see  her  happy  counte- 
nance, and  I  very  much  doubt  if  you  can  recognize 
in  this  lady  the  Ann  May  of  aunt  Mary's  story,  or 
can  believe  that  she  ever  had  been  the  occupant  of 
the  great  chimney  in  Davis  Kidder's  country  home 
in  Rhode  Island. 


THE   END. 


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